


The Story Begins

by SnowElfDragon95



Series: Isilmé of the Snow [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Brotherhood (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform, Dawnguard, Dawnguard DLC, Dragonborn (Elder Scrolls), Dragonborn DLC, F/M, Original Character(s), Other, Skyrim Civil War, Skyrim Main Quest, Thieves Guild (Elder Scrolls) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 51,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowElfDragon95/pseuds/SnowElfDragon95
Summary: Images of the events at Helgen flashed through her dreams along with some Isilmé had not recognized. Visions of strange figures; a massive being with antlers and a group of people with eyes like wolves, one with the stormy blue-gray eyes of a Nord from her past which then shifted into the black dragon’s cold blood-red gaze until it changed into man with a pair of eyes colored an icy blue tinged with gold concealed by an odd golden mask. Finally he too had morph into a being with alabaster skin and glowing blood-red cat-like eyes. She jolted upright from the hellish nightmare, panting close to hyperventilating, her body drenched in cold sweat as she tried to calm her now racing heart which was hammering painfully in her chest. Was this really a dream or was it a vision of the future?
Relationships: Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Miraak (Elder Scrolls)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Isilmé of the Snow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673596
Comments: 20
Kudos: 41





	1. Prologue: The Vision

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Scrolls foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage war come unfurled! Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world! ~Song of the Dragonborn

Isilmé remembered the sky turning black, raining balls of fire. She remembered each flash as time began to blur. A startling sight, as if fate had finally found her. She turned her gaze to the monstrous form perched high on what looked to be a crumbling watchtower. His eyes were as red as hot coals reflecting his ferocity and cruel intelligence. Scales as black as the Void itself and smooth as obsidian, she could see a fanged smile spread across his face, jagged like the birth of a canyon. A Dragon. She would have never believed it had she not seen it herself. A Dragon! “ _ **Zu’u piraak saraan hin bo.**_ ” His voice was a booming snarl that seemed to call upon meteors into this strange dream state to illuminate his massive form. ** _I have awaited your arrival..._** She swore that was what he said in a strange language she knew she never heard before but felt as if the knowledge was there all along.

  
“Who are you? Where am I and why have you brought me here?!” She demanded only to shudder when the creature’s smile broaden in to a sinisterly wicked grin. “ **Who am I**?” He laughed tilting his head in a manical manner making her hair stand on end. Her breath hitched when the blood-hued glare focused incredulous back on her, angry, possessive. “ **What is more important is who you are little Elf, Daughter of Snow.** ” He stalked closer, snaking towards her like a wolf towards a sheep. The ancient wyrm was but yards away from her, huge head lowering to her level from a musclebound tower of a neck. His growls... nay, his very words made every drop of blood in her body pulsate.

“ **You will know me soon enough. Because I am the First... and you are the Last. _Zu’u los AL-Du-Iin_!**”

Her vision began to blur and spiral in to an inky blackness. All that was left was an aching feeling in her neck and a throbbing sensation from the back of her skull. She also felt something soft against her cheek. Was that a dream just now? Or a vision of the future?


	2. Helgen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bound and hauled in a cart with the Stormcloaks, Isilmé swore she'd be executed on the day she finally returned home. However, a stroke of luck, a chance to escape and now it's a race to find safety.

**4th Era. Year: 201. 200 years after the 3rd Era. Day: Morndas. Date: 17th of Last Seed**

Her head was throbbing painfully forcing her to crack open her eyes. When she did, however, she found herself leaning against something soft. Her eyes half-opened, as she lifted her head up, realization struck her. She discovered that she had been resting her head on the shoulder of a man with dark blond hair, bound and gagged- she swore she saw him give her a curious look. Unable to speak, he grunted at her. “Gods, I’m terribly sorry,” She apologized, her head still reeling. Attempting to soothe the ache on her skull, she tried to move her hands only to find they too were bound with rope. “What in Oblivion-?”

“Hey, you! Elf!” She glanced up, shielding her eyes from the Sun high above her then turned her gaze to the source of the voice. “You awake, girl?” He too was a blonde, wearing a familiar blue cuirass with a snarling bear as the emblem. The Stormcloak attire. “Looks like you walked into that Imperial trap along with us.” “A trap? Well, that explains my aching head,” She groaned as her eyes finally adjusted. “Yep. And this thief over here.” The Nord added gesturing to the man covered in dirt who growled at them. “Damn you Stormcloaks... Skyrim was just fine until you started your damn rebellion! The Empire was nice and lazy...” The thief then looked at her. “You! Elf! We shouldn’t be here! It’s these Stormcloaks those Imperials want.” Today was definitely not her day.

The carriage rocked violently causing the gagged man beside her to grunt in pain. Judging from his armor and garments, she deduced he was a noble. “What’s wrong with him?” The thief scoffed earning a stern look from the Stormcloak who snapped fiercely. “Watch your tongue thief! That’s Ulfric Stormcloak. The true High King of Skyrim!” The thief’s face turned pale from the revelation. “T-T-T-The Jarl of Windhelm?! Oh Gods... If they caught you then... then...”  
“Where are they taking us?” The elf asked, a feeling of dread filling her stomach. “I don’t know... but Sovngarde awaits...” The Stormcloak soldier she was conversing with answered and he looked at her again. “What’s your name, little Elf? Never seen an elf like you before.

It was true that Isilmé was a very strange elf. She had snow colored skin and long, silvery white hair that shimmered like the twin moons. Her eyes were a pale purple color. The Dunmer or Dark Elves had ashen colored skin and red eyes. Wood Elves had tanned skin and were known for communicating with animals as well as being skilled hunters. Orcs or Orsimer had green or emerald skin and usually stayed within their own strongholds that dotted the lands. Then, there were the High Elves, who were known in Skyrim as the Thalmor, had bronze or gold colored skin and they were widely hated by nearly everyone in the world. The pale Elf gave a small smile. “Isilmé.” She answered bowing her head.

“The name’s Ralof.”

“Pleasure.” 

Soon, they arrived at a small city tucked away along a mountainside and the carriage driver called out to a soldier in decorative armor astride a black horse. “General Tullius! We’ve arrived at Helgen and the Thalmor Ambassador is here.” Maneuvering his mount out of the way, Tullius let the carriages carrying the prisoners roll passed him before he approached three golden elves in black and gold robes. Isilmé glanced at Ralof upon hearing him growl angrily. “Damn Thalmor... I bet they had something to do with that ambush.” “I think you're right about that.” Isilmé nodded in agreement.

The carts came to a stop in what looked like execution grounds and surrounded by Imperial soldiers who wore their signature red and tan leather and steel armor. The Imperial Captain glared at the prisoners ordering them to step forward when their names were called. The thief known as Lokir trembled and before anyone could react, he knocked Isilmé and Ulfric off the cart forcing them to land on top of each other. Or rather the pale Elf found herself pinned under the Jarl of Windhelm and was now staring directly into his storm colored eyes. Thankfully, Ralof helped the two up. 

“Who are you, Elf?” The Imperial Guard questioned, puzzled by her presence. She looked him dead in the eye.

“Isilmé of Skyrim.”

He jotted that down on his notebook. “Hmph. You do know you're not a Nord, right?"

 _Well excuse the fuck out of me. I may not be a Nord but I was born here..._ She growled.  
Isilmé huffed in irritation, joining the rest of the Stormcloaks. While all the prisoners of war stood in line, General Tullius had his attention focused on Ulfric who glared right back at the Imperial. The General crossed his arms after clearing his throat and he spoke. “Ulfric Stormcloak... Some people here call you a ‘ _hero_ ’, however a ‘ _hero_ ’ doesn’t use a power like the _Voice_ to murder his king and usurp his throne.” Tullius smirked as Stormcloak growled through his gag, his storm-grey eyes glaring daggers at the General. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace. But first, I’m going to have you witness the deaths of each and every one of your fellow Stormcloaks! Starting with the pale elf!” Tullius shouted as Ulfric’s eyes now widen in terror and horror.

Suddenly, a faint beastly roar echoed from the clouds, spectators, soldiers and prisoners alike turned their gaze to the heavens in confusion. “What was that?” Isilmé questioned nervously as brief flashes from her dream/vision rose to her mind. “It’s nothing Elf!” Tullius snapped, grabbing her then forced her to her knees slamming her head upon the executioner's block.

**Rwoooarrrrrr!!!!!**

The strange roar resonated once more however this time it was louder and everyone looked up to see a massive black blur streak down from the sky and perch itself atop a watchtower looking directly onto the execution grounds.

“ ** _DRAGON!!!!_** ”

Like a demonic bird of prey, the beast pulled his lips back in a snarl, talons flexing then digging into the stones like they were butter. His enormous midnight, almost pitch-black wings, looked as though they could eclipse the Sun. His thick armored tail twitched and coiled around the tower, the barbs scraping against the stone. The dragon’s scaly body was heavily armored in thick, obsidian colored bony plates that formed sharpened spikes from the top of his head, down his muscular neck and along his spine. The dragon’s cold unfeeling eyes were a familiar blood-red hue and he scanned the city, a hungry light reflecting his gaze.

The beast licked his chops greedily and inhaled deeply displaying long, sharp and gleaming fangs. A deep rumble escaped his throat sending shivers down the spines of his audience. “ ** _Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki_ ,**” He seemed to purr in delight before he translated and continued, “ **Your souls will feed my hunger. _Daar lein los dii!_** ” With a mighty roar, the sky turned dark and balls of fire began to rain from the heavens, obliterating anyone and all they touched. The dragon pushed himself from his perch, wings unfurled and catching the wind, he soared above the city releasing torrents of flame, swinging his tail to topple the stone towers around him.

Isilmé stumbled backwards avoiding the massive stone block that now shattered the chopper’s block. In her daze, Ralof had managed to free himself and was desperately calling out to her, trying to snap her out of it. He then rushed over to her and managed to help her to her feet then rushed to an undestroyed tower where they found the Stormcloak leader and a few dead corpses of his men. Once inside, Ulfric and Ralof slammed the door shut listening to monster’s horrible roars outside. 

“Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Aren’t dragons just legends?” Ralof questioned as his Jarl cut Isilmé’s bindings off. The tall Nord looked down at his subordinate, silently assessing his well-being before responding. 

“Legends don’t burn down villages,” He answered gravely, voice thick and huskily shaped from many battles. The tower shook violently from the force of the beast’s voice and the three companions glanced upwards in alarm. “We can’t stay here! We need to move now.” “Up through the tower!” Ralof urged then they practically sprinted up the flight of stairs. Upon reaching the second floor, the black dragon rammed his beastly head through the wall and opened his maw releasing a torrent of scorching flames into the building. 

Isilmé reacted in the nick of time pinning the Jarl and Ralof to the wall just as the flames heated her back. Snorting, the dragon pulled his head out of the wall and practically pushed himself from the tower back into the skies above. The three coughed and wiped the soot and ash from their faces. Ulfric nodded his head gratefully then they looked out the gaping hole in the wall to see the inn directly below them with a massive hole in the roof. “Isilmé, we’re going to have to jump down there to escape. Are you ready?” She heard Ralof ask calmly.

Noticing the poor girl shaking like a leaf, the young Nord rested his hand on her shoulder reassuring her with small words of encouragement. She glanced up at Ralof and Ulfric then bit her lip, nodding her head understanding then took a deep breath. She steeled herself; with a running start, she leapt from the tower and thankfully landed on the inn’s second floor safely. Ulfric and Ralof jumped down after her however as the two men landed on the platform, the wood collapsed sending them to the first floor and cutting them off from Isilmé. The elf leaned over the hole and sighed in relief upon seeing the two Nords shoving off debris and coughing. “We’re alright! Hurry head to the Keep!” Ralof urged as he gripped his Jarl’s hand and pulled him to his feet. She wanted to help get them out but received a stern look from Ulfric. “GO! We’ll meet you there!” The Jarl of Windhelm ordered. Reluctantly, she obeyed and ran off. Once out of sight, the two Nords worked on shifting the debris away from the inn’s entrance only cringing when they heard the dragon’s roar overhead and they prayed to the Nine Divines.

After leaving the inn, Isilmé made a mad dash for the Keep which was actually a stone building behind the execution grounds. She was only a few yards from the door when she found herself pinned to the dirt by a large mass. She jerked her head back, tossing her silver hair out of her eyes and felt the blood drain from her face. The black dragon was holding her down with his razor-sharp claws lightly digging into her back. “Die now and await your fate in Sovngarde!” The monster snarled and mercilessly dug his talons deeper the elf’s back. She screamed, begging, praying for this nightmare to end.

“ _ **Fus...Ro DAH!**_ ” Someone shouted, sending a powerful shockwave that slammed into the dragon’s side, knocking him off-balance and off of Isilmé. She then felt a pair of strong arms lift her up all while hearing the beast roar in anguish. “ _ **Meyye! Dir ko maar!**_ ” He screeched watching Ulfric, Isilmé and Ralof disappear deeper into the keep but turned his attention towards the remaining soldiers trying to escape.

“Are you alright?” Ulfric asked as he put the elf down. She nodded reassuringly and they began searching for weapons. They managed to find a couple of steel war axes and a steel sword. After making their way down several flights of stairs, Isilmé let out a horrified shriek upon entering what appeared to be a torture chamber. Catching up with the woman, the two Nords turned peaked. There were mangled, dismembered bodies sprawled across the floor. Some were burnt. Others were frozen solid in ice. “Shor’s bones!” Ralof gagged covering his face with his palm. Ulfric’s body stiffened as he surveyed the bloodbath.

“This is dreadful...” He heard Isilmé say looking rather sickly. Although mortified, they carefully maneuvered around the deceased and came upon a narrow passage leading out of the torture chamber. However, they quickly noticed the walls began to turn white and sticky the further they descended. Isilmé was more than certain that this wasn’t moss.  
“I don’t like this. I think this is webbing...”

Ralof shuddered, voicing exactly what Isilmé was thinking. There was only one creature in Skyrim that made webbing and it was the Frostbite Spider. Although there were countless species of fauna in Skyrim, from the wolves that preyed on the rabbit and deer to the mighty bears and sabre cats that preyed on the wooly mammoths and giants; none of them held a candle to venomous Frostbite Spiders that grew to the size of a man and preyed on all. “I think we’re in a nest.” Isilmé surmised from some web sacs she found along the walls.

“Proceed with vigilance.” Ulfric warned. They nod in agreement. All was going well until they reached a massive cavern leading to the exit and Ralof stumbled after his foot got caught on a rock. Two massive arachnids descended from the ceiling. One blocked the exit while its mate landed behind them. Spiders... It had to be spiders! Isilmé cringed as she readied her sword defensively. “Ralof, you and the elf take care of the one behind us. I’ll deal with this one!” Ulfric ordered and they engaged the foul creatures. As Ralof hacked off the arachnid's legs Isilmé finished it off with a sword thrust to the head. They jumped when they heard Jarl Ulfric cry out in agony. When they turned towards him, they saw why.

“Talos Almighty!” Ralof shouted nearly dropping his war axe.  
Ulfric had made too wide of a swing leaving him wide open for the spider to pounce. Seizing its chance, the foul creature had sunk its long fangs into his chest, piercing through the steel breastplate. Gritting his teeth, the Jarl could feel the freezing cold venom coursing through his veins. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Elf lunge forward shoving her blade through the spider’s head forcing it to release him and crumple to a heap at their feet.

“Jarl Ulfric!” Isilmé shout as she heard the Nord sink to his knees clutching his wounds, shivering violently. Ralof slung his Jarl’s arm over his shoulder and hoisted him to his feet. “Riverwood isn’t far from here. Let’s go.” The young Nord urged as they left the gods forsaken cave. Once outside, the trio found themselves bathed in the afternoon sun piercing through the dense forest, the sounds of birds singing and other wildlife. Unfortunately, due to Ulfric’s large stature, Ralof wasn’t able to hold him. 

“Damn! We can’t carry him and he needs a healer.” Ralof said shakily, Isilmé looking around grimly.

It was the sudden snap of a twig that made the Stormcloak soldiers and the elf jump in alarm, causing them to quickly draw their weapons. To their surprise, mostly relief, a large stag with a coat as brilliant as snow emerged like a ghost from the foliage. If things weren’t so dire, they would have been fascinated at this marvelous sight. The beast was abnormally large for a stag, almost the size of a horse but maybe... Isilmé suddenly got an idea.

She approached the creature calmly, speaking softly to it and she extended her hand towards its muzzle. Intelligent, deep dark blue eyes stared back into hers, his ears flicked forward and he snorted tossing his head softly, knocking a few leaves off the tree he stood by with his massive antlers.   
“Woman, what in Oblivion-?” Ralof growled but was rendered silent when the creature pressed his snout into her palm. She smiled and gestured to Ulfric. Catching on to her idea, Ralof urged Ulfric to his feet and momentarily marveled at how the beast knelt down on his forelegs, almost as if he was bowing, but shook his head and hoisted Ulfric onto the creature’s back. Like bats out of Oblivion, they raced down the cobblestone road until they saw a village in the distance.

Riverwood was a small rustic looking village with a saw mill and a blacksmith’s abode beside the river. There was a tavern and store on the opposite side. The villagers’ homes were behind the general store. “Isilmé, my sister’s house is the second to last house. Bring the Jarl there while I get her.” Ralof whispered before dashing off towards the mill. Stroking the stag’s velvety snout, Isilmé led the beast to the house then gently shook Ulfric’s shoulder. He stirred, his storm blue eyes opening weakly as he felt the back of her hand brush aside a lock of his dark blonde hair from his face.

“...........” He seemed to be muttering something but it was inaudible to her.

Soon, Ralof returned with a woman with the same sunshine colored hair and emerald green eyes as his. “Don’t worry friends. You’re safe. Come inside.” She said as they helped Ulfric off of the stag and into the house. Once they got the Jarl inside, Ralof thanked and apologized to his sister before he began tending to his Jarl. Meanwhile, Gerdur had taken Isilmé outside to talk privately. “I want to thank you for saving my brother and Jarl Ulfric. It’s nice to know that there are some elves who are kind.” Gerdur says softly.

“There are many elves who are. It’s just unfortunate that many humans dislike us Mer since the Great War with the Aldmeri Dominion. I can’t blame them.” Isilmé admitted reluctantly. Over twenty years ago, a great war was waged against the Cyrodillic Empire and the High Elves of the Summerset Isles. Skyrim was one of the countries that engaged in the war and the Empire lost. They were then forced to appease the Aldmeri Dominion by signing a treaty known as the White-Gold Concordant, which forbade the worship of Talos.

From what Isilmé remembered her grandfather tell her, Talos, who’s birthname was Tiber Septim, was a Nord from Skyrim during the Second Era who saved the world during a time of strife and through many trials, ascended into godhood as the Ninth Divine. However, the High Elves didn’t agree with the idea of a human becoming a god; mostly due to them believing they themselves were descendants of the Gods and thought they were the superior race; and thus, demanded the worship of who they believed to be a false god.

The elf glanced up at the Nord woman who was staring at her curiously. “Apologies, Gerdur. I was lost in thought.” She stated embarrassed. Gerdur gave a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. However, might I ask a favor?” Gerdur asked, her tone turning serious. Isilmé nodded, eager to assist in any way. “Of course. Ask away.” “Jarl Balgruff up in Whiterun needs to know that there’s a dragon loose. As you can see, Riverwood is defenseless. If you can convince him to send whatever men he can, I’ll be more than grateful.” Gerdur explained and beamed at the pale elf as she nodded her head in agreement with her.

“Just follow the road, right?” She asked sheepishly. The Nord woman chuckled and nodded telling her she couldn’t miss it.  
Just as Isilmé was about to get on the road, Ralof rushed out of the house looking at the two women with worry.

“Brother, what’s wrong?” Gerdur asked startled by her younger brother’s pale face. “It’s Jarl Ulfric! The potions you had aren’t working!” The three of them rushed inside to find Ulfric shivering violently and he was unconscious. “Gerdur. Ralof. Get him out of his armor! I’ll head to the store to see if they have any herbs or potions that can help!” Isilmé ordered before sprinting back outside to the general store. She briefly noticed some ruins in the distance overlooking the village. She narrowed her eyes and hurried inside the store.

While the elf was gone, Ralof and his sister managed to remove the Jarl’s armor and they grimaced at the wound where the spider had bitten him. The puncture wound had turned pitch- black and it seemed be pulsating with the venom. A moment later, Isilmé rushed in with a red bottle. “Lucan didn’t have any antidotes in stock but he gave me an Elixir of Health. This will buy us some time. Those ruins overlooking the town... what are they?” She questioned the siblings.

Gerdur and Ralof looked at each in utter confusion before turning back to her. “Bleak Falls Barrow?” Gerdur asked uncertain. “It’s a draugr ruin. What about it, Elf?!” Ralof snapped angrily. “There’s a way to save him! Make sure the Jarl drinks the draught! I’ll return soon!” Isilmé answered before bolting out of the house, thanking the Gods that the stag had remained.

“Please my friend. I need your help once more.” She pleaded to the animal. As if it understood her desperation, the creature tossed his head and allowed her to hop on to his back. By the time Isilmé arrived at the ancient catacombs, the sun was beginning its descent in the sky. Sliding down from the stag’s back, she ran up under a couple of crumbling archways leading to a large iron door inside the hill leading deeper into the burial grounds. “If my knowledge is correct, then there should be some snow-star lilies around here.” She muttered to herself as she searched around the area. She heard about a rare flower that only grew near ancient Nordic burial grounds. This included catacombs, crypts and sometimes abandoned temples. 

As she scavenged the patches of grass, she tripped over what she thought was a fallen stone but upon closer inspection, she discovered that it was actually a stone chest. Not wasting any time, the elf took out her sword then carefully wedged it in to the gap between the top and bottom and pressed down on the hilt. _POP_! The lid slid off with ease and as Isilmé peered inside she heaved a disappointed sigh. No flowers. She did however find a strange stone tablet. Lifting it up, she traced her delicate fingers across the intricate designs etched on the surface. It was pretty in a strange way.

“Not what I was seeking, but it may be worth quite a bit...” She muttered then stiffened when she heard something. It started out low then it began to grow. The strange sound had her looking around until her eyes spotted a weird looking wall with even stranger looking text.

The writing began to glow and she heard the strange voices begin to sing loudly in her ears. **_Fus?_** Force...? She swore that was what she heard the wall sing to her. Suddenly, she squinted as something shone up into her eyes. Blinking, Isilmé turned her gaze down to a small bush swaying in a faint breeze and she nearly gasped in delight for there, blossoming on the bush were glistening flowers so transparent the elf nearly mistook them for glass. Snowstar lilies. 

The lilies shimmered like their namesake and without wasting another moment, she began picking as many flowers as possible. She twice thanked the gods for the abundance. She would press and preserve the unused flowers later. Once she plucked the last one, she noticed the stag pawing the ground, his ears pinned back angrily. It wasn’t until she heard the sound of an unearthly moan whispering behind her that there was danger. The scent of decaying flesh tickled her nose, forcing her to twirl around. She felt the color drain from her face. Standing before her was a humanoid creature with glowing white orbs for eyes. It was almost all bone save for the tight, slimy looking decaying flesh that hugged its body tightly.

Draugr...

Isilmé shuddered as she readied her sword. Draugrs were undead ancient Nords; Atmorans supposedly; that roamed through Nordic ruins acting as guardians and were very powerful beings that were not to be trifled with. She should know having dealt with more than a few of these creatures in her life on Solsthiem.

Thankfully, the elf knew a trick with dealing with these ancient corpses. In a swift motion, she thrust her sword into the draugr’s chest, then quickly withdrawing her blade, she twirled around and sliced the creature’s head clean off. She gathered the stone tablet and bouquet of lilies then leapt on to the stag’s back. The beast rose on his hind legs, turned away from the ruins then sprang down the path towards Riverwood with Isilmé clinging to his back. 

By the time they returned to Gerdur’s house, the sky was beginning to darken. Ralof was pacing in the garden waiting for the Elf to return. He had managed to get his Jarl to drink the health potion and lay down on a spare cot in the house but he wasn’t sure how long Ulfric could last. Thankfully, the sound of galloping hooves caught his attention as the white beast skid to a stop in front of him and Isilmé slid from the stag’s back giving him a gentle pat on his shoulder. “Thank you for assisting me. Have safe travels.” She said and watched as the stag galloped away into the darkness.

“How is the Jarl?” 

“He’s holding on thanks to the potion but won’t last long.” The young Nord answered gravely.

They hurried inside and approached Ulfric’s bedside. Isilmé felt her heart sink at the sight. Stormcloak’s breathing was faint, his eyes shut tight and his body was shivering from the venom causing him to break out in a cold sweat that drenched his body. Working quickly, Isilmé reached for one of the lilies and began broiling the flower in a kettle of hot water. As the tea finished being boiled, the elf poured the drink into a cup singing a strange song and to Ralof’s astonishment, witnessed the cup glowing with a soft white light. She brought the warm cup to the Jarl and managed to encourage the Nord to drink it down. 

Within a few moments the color had returned to Ulfric’s face and his breathing returned to normal. Even his wounds were gone. Isilmé then brought another cup to the young Stormcloak soldier as he gaped at her. “Did... Did you just use magic?” He asked perplexed. The elf creased her brow trying to find the right words to say. “Not really. It’s a Skald trick. I draw the magical properties of an herb with my song as though I’m praying to the All-Maker then as you saw, the herb glows. However, it only works with Snowstar lilies. I am not certain why.” She admitted.

As they sat by the fire, Ralof drank his cup of tea while keeping an eye on his Jarl. “Don’t worry, Ralof. Jarl Ulfric will be just fine now. He’ll just be asleep for a couple days as he regains his strength.” Isilmé reassured smiling. She nursed her tea absentmindedly. “You know, we could use someone like you in the Stormcloaks.” 

“I don’t know, Ralof...” 

“Look here little Elf. You don’t have to be a Nord to fight for Skyrim’s freedom and you’ve seen for yourself how far the Empire has fallen.”

She took a long drink. “Tell you what. Why don’t you think about it and join when you feel ready?” The young Nord suggested earning a gentle smile from her. She nodded her head. After the two finished their tea and got ready for bed, Ralof watched as the Elf took her bedroll and laid it near the fire. “You’re heading to Whiterun first light?” He asked as he settled into his bedroll. She hummed in response and snuggled under the furs. After today, she welcomed the blanket of darkness allowing her body and her mind to succumb to sleep. However, her rest was far from peaceful.

Images of the events at Helgen flashed through her dreams along with some Isilmé had not recognized. Visions of strange figures; several with eyes of a hunter alongside a massive being with antlers, another group with alabaster skin and fiery glowing yellow eyes, one with the stormy blue-gray eyes of a Nord from her past which then shifted into the black dragon’s cold blood-red gaze until finally it changed to a pair of icy blackish-blue eyes concealed by a golden mask. She jolted upright from the hellish nightmare, panting close to hyperventilating, her body drenched in cold sweat as she tried to calm her now racing heart which was hammering painfully in her chest.

She noticed that everyone was still asleep and the faint light of dawn had seeped through the door. Once she had calmed down, she freshened up and changed into a belted tunic and knapsack that Gerdur had left for her along with a bow and quiver full of arrows. She checked on Ulfric’s condition after strapping her sword to her hip and was relieved that he was improving immensely. Writing on some fresh parchment, Isilmé left Ralof a note thanking him and Gerdur for the small tokens and when she would return. With that, she left the small village. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translations:
> 
> Daar lien los dii- This world is mine!
> 
> Meyye! Dii ko maar!- Fools! I am Fear!
> 
> Fus Do Dah- un relenting force shout.


	3. The Jarl of Whiterun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barely escaping the burning city of Helgen, Isilmé, Ralof and Ulfric find refuge in Riverwood. Asked to seek aid from Jarl Balgruuf, Isilmé heads out to the city.

The crisp morning air filled her very being with delight as the pale Elf crossed the stone bridge and continued to follow the cobblestone road. She listened to the river rapids on her right finding the sounds appealing to her ears. The morning fog dissipated, bathing the forest in a pleasant green hue. She giggled when she saw butterflies flutter by on the wind. _This is the calm before the storm_... She thought grimly but decided to just enjoy the serene morning regardless. Soon enough she could see the city of Whiterun through the break in the trees and marveled at its beauty.

Suddenly, Isilmé felt the ground under her feet tremble making her body rock briefly. Pricking her ears, she heard a commotion coming from a steep downhill slope followed by another shaking of the ground. Taking a risk, the elf slid down the slope to find a fifteen-foot giant swinging his massive club at three warriors. They were all Nords from what Isilmé could see from where she stood. The first was a bow wielding, green-eyed woman with long, wild-looking hair with a color that could shame even that of fire and she had three lines of green war paint slanted across her face resembling claw marks.

Her companions were both young men, possibly twins, roughly around the same age as Isilmé. They both had icy blue eyes and midnight black hair although one was taller than the other. They also had short stubble on their chins. They were both very muscular and wore the same armor as the woman; steel with a wolf engraved on the breastplates. Wielding steel broadswords, it was clear to Isilmé that these warriors were no amateurs however they all looked worse for wear.

“Aela! We can’t keep this up! It’s too strong! Vilkas look out!” The taller twin exclaimed in a gruff voice as he rolled away to avoid the giant’s club along with his brother.

“I hate to admit it, but Farkas is right.” Shouted the shorter twin as he pulled his brother away from another brutal swing. Aela reached over her shoulder to grab another arrow from her quiver only to gasp in horror as she grabbed nothing but air. She was out! Farkas and Vilkas grunted painfully when the giant’s club collided into them, knocking them straight into Aela. The trio were lucky to have landed in a massive hay bale but were now tangled up in each other.

“For Shor’s s- Get off of me, Farkas! You’re fucking heavy ice-brain!” Vilkas growled, shoving his twin off him.

“It ain’t my fault!”

“Quit arguing you two! Now is not the time!” Aela shouted kicking Vilkas off her before brushing the hair from her face only for the three warriors to go rigid as the giant loomed over them, its club raised high above its head, ready to crush the warriors into a bloody pulp. “ **SHIT!!!!!** ”

**THWACK! THWACK! THWACK!**

The giant suddenly froze. Its club slid from its hand slowly before hitting the dirt with a thud. “What in Oblivion?” Aela asked in disbelief whiling watching the giant’s knees buckle then to everyone’s astonishment witnessed the titan fall forwards, three arrows protruding from its head, stirring up small dust clouds from its collapse, making the ground tremble under its weight. The three warriors glanced at each other in confusion at the scene. Although bewildered at the sight, Farkas noticed Isilmé sprinting towards them. “Is everyone alright?” She asked the warriors scanning them for any serious injuries. Farkas chuckled softly. “Bruised but alive. Nothing’s broken either.” He assured the elf woman. His brother only glared at her. “Were you the one who did this?” Aela asked while gesturing to the fallen giant. The elf nodded her head sheepishly.

“Impressive skills you have. You could make for a decent Shield-Sister.” The red-headed woman smiled which quickly vanished when Isilmé quirked a brow in confusion. Shield-Sister? The Elf pondered. “What’s a Shield-Sister?” She asked embarrassed. The three warriors gaped at her as though the Elf woman had a rat on her head. After composing themselves, the flame-headed woman let out a hearty chuckle and took Isilmé’s hand, nodding in thanks as the Elf helped her up.

“I’m guessing you’re not from around here. No worries. The three of us are members of the Companions. We are brothers and sisters in honor.” Aela explained and noticed elf’s eyes were still confused but watched her nod her head. “Speaking of which,” Farkas chuckled huskily as Vilkas helped him to his feet, “we ought to return to Jorrvaskr before Kodlak and Skjor start to panic.” Gathering up their gear; Aela, Farkas and Vilkas started heading to the castle with Isilmé in tow. Vilkas narrowed his eyes then glanced over his shoulder, locking eyes with the woman.

“Why are you following us, elf?” He growled irritation growing exponentially and Isilmé swore she saw the man’s eyes glow an amber color if only for a brief moment. He grunted slightly when Farkas elbowed him roughly in the ribs. Thankfully, the elf kept her cool and responded bluntly, “I need to deliver a message to Jarl Balgruuf. It’s about Helgen.”

“Well, we can show you the way. Jorrvaskr is practically next to Dragonsreach.” Farkas offered quickly. Before she even had a chance to even consider protesting, the tall Nord took her hand and ushered her into the Hold. Once they were within the walls of Whiterun, Isilmé’s eyes lit up in amazement. There were many shops and food stalls. She marveled at some weapons on display at the smithy to her right then stifled a giggle at a building known as the Drunken Huntsman. She then had her thoughts interrupted as Farkas began explaining to her that Whiterun was divided into three tiers.

“Three tiers?”

“Yeah. The tier we’re in now is the Plains District. This is where most of the market stalls and stores are located. The Bannered Mare is the tavern at the end of the street.” He nodded gruffly. Isilmé grinned excitedly. They continue down the street, the voices of the vendors rang out around them. It was most certainly lively. She continued to follow the warriors up a staircase leading to a massive tree with white and pink blossoms that floated on the wind like feathers. The elf could not help but feel at peace under the tree’s sweet fragrance. 

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Aela asked her making her jump slightly. Isilmé gave a weak smile. “This is the Wind District. As you can tell, most of Whiterun’s residents, including us Companions, live here and it's easy to find thanks to the tree.” The Nord woman informed her. Vilkas, however, just rolled his eyes and broke off from the group then sprinted up some stairs on the right leading to a large building shaped like an upside-down Viking ship.

“Is that Jorrvaskr over there?” The pale elf gestured watching Vilkas. Farkas and Aela followed her gaze and gave her a proud nod. They also noticed Isilmé staring at a massive carving of an eagle with its wings unfurled as though it would take flight at any given moment. “That there’s the Skyforge. If you ever need a weapon, Skyforge steel is the best.” Farkas advised then turned to Isillmé. “Hope to see you again. Be seeing you.” With a carefree salute, the brawny Nord chased after his twin.

“Well, this is where we part ways, friend. The Jarl's just up the stairs over there and through the palace in the Cloud District. Swift hunting.” Aela smiled patting Isilmé on the shoulder before disappearing up to Jorrvaskr as well. Taking a breath, the Elf turned to the large staircase leading up to the castle overlooking everything. A few minutes ticked by and she found herself taken aback at the gaping maw of what looked to be the skull of a dragon.

That explains why the castle is called Dragonsreach... She thought to herself before shaking her head and proceeding through the large doors. She ignored the obvious stares from the servants and guards and strolled up the small stairway. She was greeted by a raging bonfire, simmering, crackling in a large rectangular pit in the center of what looked to be a council chamber. There were long tables on her right and her left. She spotted chefs in a kitchen to her left, possibly preparing for this evening’s supper. To her right, she saw a large room with what looked to be a mage flitting around several different tables while reading a book. However, her attention was redirected to an argument behind the fire.

She saw a man sitting upon a throne with a tired almost irritated look on his face as a young man in elegant blue tunic and slacks, chatted the Nord’s ear off. He wore splendid robes with the emblem of a rearing horse on his shoulder and crown made of emeralds and rubies. He had short reddish-blonde hair and dark green eyes. He also had a short beard on his chin. That must be Jarl Balgruuf... Isilmé Before the pale elf could even approach the two men, a Dunmer woman who had been leaning against the wall beside the throne descended upon her like a hawk to a rabbit.

The Dunmer had light ash-colored skin decorated with red spiraling tattoos on her face and she wore leather armor that fit her muscular form quite nicely and strapped to her hip was a finely crafted steel sword. “What is the meaning of this interruption?” Demanded the Dark Elf icily making Isilmé recoil slightly intimidated by the woman’s piercing red eyes. She was also slightly taller than the pale Elf. “Jarl Balgruuf is not expecting visitors."

“Riverwood calls for aid from the Jarl of Whiterun.” Isilmé informed the Dunmer woman who didn’t seem convinced. “As housecarl, my job is to deal with all the dangers that threaten the Jarl or his people. Now, explain N’wah!” Isilmé growled faintly at her. _Outsider_. “It’s alright Irileth. Let her come forward.” The Dunmer glanced at her then back at her Jarl and sighed as she let the pale elf approach him. 

“What’s this about Riverwood being in danger girl?” Balgruuf asked in a deep voice as his eyes focused intently on the Elf. She noted that he was in his late forties from his voice and she took a deep breath. “Jarl Balgruuf, a dragon destroyed Helgen. Gerdur is afraid that Riverood will be next. She asks that you send whatever help you can.” She pleaded.

“You’re sure it was a dragon? You’re certain it wasn’t a Stormcloak raid gone wrong?" Balgruuf questioned.

“I was there, Jarl. I saw the dragon burn Helgen to the ground and last I saw it was heading this direction.” Isilmé nodded keeping quiet about Ulfric and her almost being executed. As the Jarl shifted in his throne and she heaved a sigh of pure relief once he gave her a smile. She visibly relaxed but raised a brow when he motioned for her to follow him while Irileth. “You’ve done Whiterun a great service, girl and I won’t soon forget it. What is your name?”

“Isilmé, my Jarl.”

“Isilmé... it has a pretty ring to it. So, are you a pale High Elf or Wood Elf?"

“Neither and before you ask, no I am not a Dark Elf either. All I know is that I am an Elf. That is the extent of my knowledge.” The pale Elf said reluctantly and she suddenly noticed they were in an armory. Just as she was about ask what they were doing, Balgruuf whispered something to Irileth before leaving the room. “My Jarl has asked me to give a suit of armor as a token of appreciation. Do you prefer light, medium or heavy armor?” The Dunmer asked curtly. “Medium... but he really doesn’t have to do that...” Isilmé held up her hands hoping to dissuade the housecarl to no avail.

She watched as Irileth scrounged around until settling on a chainmail cuirass, leather bracers and thick leather boots. “This chainmail looks to be your size. It is also enchanted to resist fire and lightning.” She explained as she helped Isilmé change. Once satisfied with fit, she had the elf walk around and get acclimated to the weight of the armor. “I assume you’ve worn a cuirass before?” The housecarl asked crossing her arms across her chest. “I have but it was made of tanned leather. Not steel.” Isilmé nodded as she strapped her sword to her hip.  
“Jarl Balgruuf is waiting for you outside the room. Go on.” The Dunmer quipped. Not wanting to keep the Jarl and not wanting to pick a fight with Irileth, Isilmé made herself scarce and lifted her knapsack. Once in front of the Nordic Jarl, she bowed her head and thanked him from the armor to which the man chuckled and shrugged. The Jarl lifted his hand then he motioned for her to follow him. 

“I know you only came to deliver the message, but I must ask for your assistance once more. Come. I’ll introduce you to my court wizard, Farengar.” Balgruuf informed the pale Elf as she matched his stride. “He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons.” They walked into the mage’s study and watched as the hooded man was reading a tome clearly unaware of their presence. “Farengar.” Balgruuf called out. No response. “Farengar!” Still no response. Isilmé stifled a chuckle when the Jarl yanked the tome from the wizard who turned his head towards them only to be smack upside his scalp by his Jarl.

“The Jarl said you had a project you needed help with.” The elf grinned. The young mage eyed her curiously then scoffed causing her smile to falter. “You think you could help me? Heh, I don’t think so.” He said snatching his book back. She narrowed her eyes then once again smirked as she crossed her arms and chuckled. “Careful- you’re about to step in your own Shock Rune, mage.” She challenged rending the man speechless.

“What?! I never cast... ahhh, I see. You know your knowledge on the Higher Art.” Farengar chuckled relaxing as the Jarl rolled his eyes and left the two to get acquainted. As the two got down to business, the court wizard hinted that he needed her to run an errand. “What does this have anything to do with the dragons?” She questioned aloud. “Well you see, once the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies. But I began searching for any information I can find which is where you come in.” Quirking a brow, the Elf gave him a suspicious look. “I, err, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow-” “Hold a moment.” Isilmé said in alarm. 

Puzzlement turned to shock when she produced the pretty stone tablet she had found at the Barrow from her knapsack and presented it to the mage. His mouth was gaping in utter disbelief. “T-t-t-the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow?! You already found it?!” He stated as he took the stone and placed it on his desk. “Here, I think five hundred gold will suffice for your troubles.” Farengar had plopped a very hefty purse filled with gold coins. Before she could even thank the mage, Irileth stormed in as a guard ran past her.

“Farengar! N’wah!” The housecarl snapped at the two.

Islimé bit her lip resisting the urge to snap at the woman but held her tongue as Irileth urged them to follow her up a grand staircase leading to the second floor where they saw Jarl Balgruuf talking with a terrified guard. From the small bits the pale Elf could catch from their conversation, it did not sound good. In fact, Isilmé swore she sensed fear. Fear and the feeling of dread.

_Oh Talos.... I don’t like that look....._


	4. Dragonborn?!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as Isilmé delivers the dragonstone to Farengar, another dragon decides to show up and Isilmé is on the front lines. Lucky her...

The Jarl of Whiterun turned his attention away from his soldier after sending him to the barracks to recover and set his sights upon Isilmé. She went rigid as he approached trio. “Irileth, take a detachment to the western watchtower and hurry!” He barked urgently. Hand to her chest, the Dunmer bowed her head then swiftly departed. Farengar was sent to the barracks to tend the wounded and Isilmé stiffened as Balgruuf’s eyes locked onto hers.

“There’s no time to stand on ceremonies, Isilmé. I need your help once again.” He said resting his large hands on her shoulders. “I need you to go the watchtower with Irileth. You’re the only one who has an inkling on the dragons, so you have a bit more experience than any of us.” “B-but! I hardly know a thing about them either!” She stammered clearly shaken. Balgruuf smiled sympathetically towards her. He knew a frightened soul anywhere but he also noticed a flicker of determination in the elf’s purple eyes. Nodding her head, she bowed to the Jarl and sprinted after the housecarl.

Crouching low besides the soldiers, Irileth and Isilmé were analyzing the smoldering tower a few feet in front of them. “No sign of him now. But he certainly has been here.” The Dunmer woman clicked her tongue. From the scorch marks, I’d say no more than an hour before we arrived. Isilmé surmised scanning the debris. She and the soldiers drew closer to further inspect the tower and search for survivors. 

“NO! Stay back! It’s still around here somewhere. Hroki and Torg were grabbed not long ago!” A frantic guard shouted curled up as Irileth and Isilmé drew closer. The housecarl knelt down to assess his injuries when a faint roar sounded overhead. Going rigid, Isilmé quickly drew her bow and looked to the skies. She felt her body tremble with anticipation. Waiting. Dreading. A large shadow flew over them. “Kynareth save us! Here he comes again!!”

And came it did. The dragon descended upon them with its teeth and claws gleaming. “Is that the one from Helgen?!” Irileth demanded as they took shelter within the tower from the beast’s fiery breath. The Dunmer seemed to pale when Isilmé shook her head. “Nay. The one at Helgen was bigger. Much, much bigger and it was as black as the Void. This one is actually on the small size and its scales are a bronze color.” She informed them; eyes focused on the beast soaring overhead.

“You’re the dragon expert. Any ideas?” One of the guards commented as he readied his sword. As she studied the dragon’s movements, she blinked in realization then calmly aimed her bow. “We need to ground it. Aim for its wings then once it down, we attack it with everything we got.” She ordered and let loose the arrow! A pained roar echoed from above as her arrow pierced through the dragon’s wing. Soon, the soldiers followed the pale elf’s lead releasing arrow after arrow at the creature narrowly avoiding being burned alive.

Irileth’s palm was glowing a dark purple color that began to crackle and spark with lightning. She shouted for Isilmé to move and once she did, the Dunmer unleashed a powerful current of lightning magic square in the dragon’s chest. Screeching and spasming in agony, the dragon plummeted from the sky and crashed on to the ground across them. Isilmé rolled to left dodging a snap of its large jaws. 

The dragon’s head was as big as she was tall and she was under five and a half feet tall. She saw the dragon swing his barbed tail viciously knocking three soldiers back. Irileth was cursing rather colorfully as she was smacked by the beast’s powerful wing. Isilmé’s blood ran cold when the dragon turned its attention towards her and reared its head back, inhaling sharply.

“ _ **Yol Toor Shul!!!!!**_ ” It roared in anguish. The pale elf rolled forward towards the dragon wincing as the flames lightly burnt her snowy skin. She then hissed in pain as the beast rammed its large snout in to her. She swore she felt a few ribs crack from the impact. She then found herself being catapulted up in the air from the beast tossing her off its nose with little effort. It then opened its maw and snatched the elf, sword and all, out of the air with its mouth.

**SNAP!**

Isilmé could hear the muffled voices of the soldiers and she cringed when it dawned on her where she was. _I’m inside this thing’s mouth?!_ Her thoughts exclaimed then shuddered as she felt the creature’s saliva encompass her body. Disgusting! Realizing she was still gripping her sword, Isilmé closed her eyes, prayed to Divines then thrust her sword upward unknowingly sending the blade to the dragon’s brain. The beast let out a pained roar.

The dragon thrashed its head from side to side viciously, obviously in agony before literally spitting out the elf in a heap of saliva and dragon blood. Irileth and the remaining soldiers grimaced in sympathy as Isilmé made a sour face only to be silenced when the dragon collapsed, a dying whisper whistling through her ears. _**Dovahkiin?! NOOOO!!!!!....**_ Isilmé, despite literally escaping the jaws of death, she felt.... sad for the creature. “Hey, you alright?” One soldier asked. “Wait! What’s happening?” Another questioned pointing at the dead dragon as its scales began to crackle and glow.

The scales seemed to flake off and disintegrate in to tiny orbs of light from the dragon’s body like flecks of dust. Suddenly there was the sound of rushing wind and the beast’s entire body transformed into colorful streams of light that spiraled around Isilmé seemingly glowing around her body before ‘settling’ within her. Almost as if she had absorbed something from the once mighty beast. It felt warm, comforting. She even felt her broken ribs repair themselves then felt someone helping her to her feet. Irileth was helping her keep steady when one of the soldiers approached, his eyes gleaming with excitement and wonder.

“I can’t believe it... Y-You're Dragonborn!"

“I beg your pardon? Dragonborn??” The pale elf asked wringing out the foul matter still sticking to her hair. _Ewww... I need a bath after this._ She flicked her wrist as the slime flew from her hand. The small group of soldiers surrounded her in excitement and it actually made her a little uncomfortable. Thankfully, they backed off when Irileth snapped at them. Isilmé jumped when a second guard spoke up from behind her. “That’s right! My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in ‘em. Like Tiber Septim himself.”

 _Wait... What are they getting at?_ Isilmé cocked her head to the side curiously as she listened to the men argue.

“I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons.”

“There weren’t any dragons then, you idiot.” An older guard sighed in exasperation, “They’re just now returning for the first-time in... forever. But the old tales tell of men with the Dragon Blood who could kill dragons and steal their power. The white Elf must be one.” The men continued to mutter to themselves while Irileth remained silent. Contemplating the information, she was pulled from her thoughts when she felt Isilmé’s eyes on her.  
“Um, what do you make of all this Dragonborn business, Irileth? You’re awfully quiet.” She asked and the Dunmer woman just crossed her arms. After a few moments, she spoke. “Hmph. Some of these men are better off not flapping their gums. Here’s a dead dragon, and that’s something I understand. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me. I don’t need some mythical Dragonborn.”

“Well, if she really is Dragonborn, like the old tales suggest, she ought to be able to Shout.” The old guard stated matter-of-factly turning towards Isilmé who gave him a confused look. “Don’t be ridiculous! We Mer can’t use the Voice like you Men, Argonians and Khajiit, can.” Irileth growled rolling her red eyes in irritation. As much as Isilmé hated to admit it, she had to agree with the housecarl. The ability to Shout was a gift to Man and Beast-folk from the Goddess Kynareth while Mer or Elves, were gifted with extensive knowledge of magic and long lives by the Gods of Wisdom and Time: Julianos and Akatosh. All the races of Elves have tried to obtain this power to Shout, but were physically unable to.

“Well, we won’t know unless she tries.” The younger guard states and once again, Isilmé found everyone’s eyes on her. She shrugged her shoulders but decided to indulge them. What happened next stunned everyone. Including herself. She felt something stir within her very being and she said the first thing that came to her mind.

“ _ **FUS**_!!!” She shouted sending a small shockwave at the group, knocking both the men and Irileth off their feet and flat on their backs. Isilmé blinked covering her mouth in utter disbelief. D-Did I just... She thought in alarm as the old guard stood up and grinned at her. “That was Shouting, what you just did! You truly are Dragonborn, and the first Elf to ever be known as...”

“ **Dovahkiin!!!!** "

Several voices sounded in the wind, like the mighty clap of thunder that made the air and ground quake beneath the warriors’ feet. “What in Oblivion was that?!” Isilmé groaned as her elven ears throbbed from the unexpected interruption. Rubbing her ears, Irileth gritted her teeth and held her head in her palm. “I don’t know but frankly I don’t wish to know. I DO suggest you head back to Dragonsreach and inform the Jarl of what has transpired here. Don’t worry about waiting for me. I’ll be along shortly.” Irileth ordered and practically shooed the pale elf along. 

Thankfully, the sprinting dried her off and Isilmé was even more pleased that she did not reek like dragon’s breath. She still planned on taking a bath once she finished debriefing Jarl Balgruuf. She slowed her pace as she wandered through the Plains District, absentmindedly listening to the still bustling marketplace. She then made her way to Dragonsreach.

“So, what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?”

“Yes, my Jarl. It was. Sadly, the tower was destroyed,” Isilmé answered solemnly, “But we managed to kill the dragon.” The Jarl of Whiterun nodded his head and urged her to continue sensing there was more she wanted to say. “There must be more to it than that.” It wasn’t a question. Isilmé did not even know where to begin. 

“When the dragon died, I absorbed some kind of power from it and a few of your soldiers think I may be Dragonborn. Then we all heard a booming voice screaming Dovahkiin” She explained lowering her gaze. She watched as the Jarl leaned back on his throne, a thoughtful look upon his face. “Not just men. The Greybeards seem to think so as well.” He said and chuckled when she quirked a brow at him. As though reading her thoughts, he continued, “The Greybeards are Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of Throat of the World.” Skyrim’s tallest mountain, Isilmé remembered reading in a book.

“What do they want with me?” The pale elf asked in a baffled tone. “The Dragonborn is uniquely gifted in the Voice- the ability to focus your vital essence or your soul in to a Thu’um or more commonly known as a Shout. Unfortunately, this is all I know on the topic. You’ll have to seek them out for more information.” The Jarl explained to her and she turned her head away. He motioned for his steward to head to his personal armory as he rose from his throne. “I still need to properly reward you for all that you have done so far and I believe I know the perfect way.”

His steward returned with a sword that was as black night and seemed to radiate a fiery aura. “By my right as Jarl, I name you Isilmé, Thane of Whiterun. The highest honor I can grant within my power and to serve as your badge of honor, I give you this fire-enchanted sword from my personal armory. It is made from Ebony. Worry not, I will inform the guards of your new title. We are honored to have you, Dragonborn.” 

Isilmé nodded warily as she strapped her new sword to her hip and bowed before taking her leave. She muttered to herself unsure how to process all this new knowledge about herself. For now, she believed it would be better to keep her new identity a secret. She did not wish to draw any unwanted attention but for now, she would return to Riverwood.

As she walked pass the stables beside the castle’s walls, the young woman was greeted by two horses: a mare and a stallion. Thebeautiful mare had a snow-white coat and a mane and tail that could shame even the darkest of nights. She even had black stockings along her legs. The stallion had a golden piebald coat and a white mane and tail. Many of Skyrim’s domesticated horses were muscular and had thick fur coats to combat the cold weather however these two was much sleeker and leaner than their stablemates and they had light feathering on their hooves. She reached out and patted the pairs’ soft necks earning a soft nicker in return.

“Well aren’t you two just the sweetest.” She giggled. 

“They’re gorgeous, aren’t they?” 

She twirled around in surprise. A stocky man with black hair and stoic brown eyes was standing behind her, his gaze on her hand as it still rested upon the horses’ necks. He gave her a reassuring smile. She smiled back and nodded. “That they are.” Grinned the little elf.  
“They’re Friesians from the Summerset Isles. Tis a shame no one wants the sweet pair. Oh! Where are my manners? The name’s Skulvar. I run the stables.” The man said extending his hand. Isilmé took it in kind. “Isilmé. It’s a pleasure.” She replied. “What did you mean by ‘no one wants them’? Are they sick or something?” The stablemaster shook his head. He stroked the mare’s face watching the stallion nuzzle the elf affectionately. “No. But as you can tell they are lean. Most buyers want my stronger looking horses.” 

“How much are they?”

Skulvar stroked his chin thoughtfully. Normally, he sold his horses at five hundred gold each since he bred most of his horses but seeing how the mare and stallion were already attached to the elf, he decided to cut her a deal. “Two hundred coins each.” He said extending his hand but to his surprise the young woman did him one better.

“How about four hundred and fifty if you have spare tack?” She said pulling out the hefty coin purse that Farengar gave her and splitting the amount evenly. “Deal! They’re all yours.”

She grinned as the Nord began to saddle the horses for her. Once ready, Skulvar handed her the reins and helped her mount the horse, he handed her the reins to the stallion. “So, have a name for them at all?” He asked as she closed her eyes, concentrating. After a few moments, she finally patted the mare’s neck and spoke. “Sylph for the mare and Zinjun for the stallion.” “’Zinjun’, eh?” Skulvar quirked his brow in amusement but she ignored him. “It means ‘honored king.’” Bowing her head in thanks, she turned the newly named Sylph away from the stables and the urged the horses into a brisk trot back to Riverwood.

To her delight, she saw a few familiar Whiterun guards patrolling the streets and waved at them. They acknowledged her with respectful bows, which made her feel uneasy, but she urged Sylph and Zinjun towards Gerdur’s house and slid down from the saddle. Just as she was about to knock on the door, the young Nord woman let out a small gasp of surprise. “Ysmir’s beard! You startled me but I noticed you were able to convince Balgruuf to send some spare troops and give you a couple of horses.” Gerdur chuckled as she patted her chest.

“Oh, Sylph and Zinjun? No, I bought them. Can we talk inside?” Isilmé asked as she tied the mare and stallion to the fence and left a bucket of clean water and a bustle of apples for the pair to snack on. Once the door closed, the elf noticed that neither Ralof nor Ulfric were around. She and Gerdur sat at the kitchen table with some warm tea and freshly cooked salmon. 

“My! You had to fight another dragon and Balgruuf made you his Thane as a reward?!” Gerdur gasped in awe as Isilmé finished her report, withholding the news about her being Dragonborn, and promptly nodded her head. “Aye. I still think it’s too much though. By the way, where’d your brother wander off to?” The pale elf asked looking at the door. She also noticed that the Jarl of Windhelm wasn’t in bed either. “Where is everyone?” Gerdur scratched her head biting her lip nervously.

“Well...”

“Well?” Isilmé prompted curiously. Just as the Nord woman was about to answer, both Ralof and Ulfric entered into the house. Ulfric had awakened then he and Ralof had decided to leave for a few hours to retrieve their repaired armor along with supplies. “Oh, thank the Nine you two are alright.” Isilmé commented as the two men walked inside the cottage. Gerdur rested a hand on the elf smiling reassuringly. Ulfric gave a curt nod.

“It’s good to see you again friend. I’m glad the horses we saw out front didn’t belong to the guards.” Ralof grinned with relief. The Dragonborn chuckled softly in agreement. After a few moments of silence, Ulfric decided it was time for he and Ralof to head out back to Windhelm. Gerdur was kind enough to pack them some food for the road while the elf untethered Sylph, Zinjun glanced at the Jarl. “I scouted a path leading behind Gerdur’s house and back on the road towards Helgen leading to Ivrastead. According to the map it’s the safest route. I swear.” Isilmé said glancing at Zinjun who continued to stare at the Jarl then she handed Ulfric the stallion’s reins much to his surprise. “This is Zinjun. It means ‘Honored King’ and it seems he chooses you as his rider. May he serve you well.”

Ulfric looked at the stallion who stared intently back at the Jarl. Unwavering. The Jarl took the reins and stroked the creature’s muzzle softly a brief smile crossing his face as the horse made a happy snort. “I’ll take great care of him. You have my word.” Ulfric said gruffly and mounted the stallion as Ralof climbed onto a mare that his sister gave him. Within a few moments, the two men were gone and Isilmé returned to Whiterun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in the Elder Scrolls lore, elves beastfolk and men can use the Thu'um when trained long enough but i always thought the elves were too powerful so i decided to tweak that lore a bit. In my fan fic Elves CANNOT Shout. (Exception being Isilmé as she's Dragonborn.) This provides balance as Elves can live for over hundreds of years and many use some form of magic which already has the beastfolk and humans at a disadvantage.


	5. The Companions of Jorrvaskr

After visiting the Jarl the next morning in Dragonsreach, Isilmé stole a glance at the building known as Jorrvaskr. She could hear the faint sounds of metal striking metal followed by playful sparring banter. _I wonder..._ She thought as she wandered down the steps from the Cloud District. "I mean, I could learn much from them but then again would they let me?" She pondered quietly to herself until she absentmindedly found herself standing before the doors to the building. She took a deep breath and entered the building. 

_What am I looking at?_ She asked herself upon witnessing two warriors brawling with each other in the center of the room while a few others were spectating. A male Dunmer in leather armor and a female Nord in fur armor were brawling with their bare fists in close combat. “Keep your guard up Njada! Athis! Watch out for her left hook. There you go.” Said an old Nord in the same wolf armor she had seen Farkas and his Shield-Siblings wear. Isilmé did not recognize anyone but that didn’t bother her in the slightest.

Gathering her courage, Isilmé approached the old man still trying to ignore the scuffle currently still going on. She held her breath when the Nord turned to face her. He had a rugged almost cross kind of face. He had one eye the color of hazel and his other was clear. She noticed a long scar across that eye. So, he’s blind in that eye. Still don’t want to mess with him though. Isilmé nodded silently.

“Haven’t seen you around here before. I’m Skjor.” He stated brusquely. “Can I help you, Elf?”

“I was wondering if I could join the Companions.”

The Companion known as Skjor raised his brow curiously. She shifted slightly under his gaze but continued to keep her purple eyes locked on his. He gave her a stern expression that she couldn’t read before crossing his arms. “So, you think you have what it takes? Hmph! Lucky for you, I’m not the one who makes the decisions. Talk to Kodlak. I’ll take my leave, then.” He grinned and returned his attention back to the brawling couple. You could have at least pointed me in the right direction! Isilmé internally rolled her eyes.

Realizing Skjor wasn’t going to pay her any mind, the Dragonborn turned around and approached an elderly Nord woman who was sweeping near a banister. “Excuse me. I don’t mean to bother you, but can you tell me where I might find Kodlak?” She asked when the woman glanced in her direction. “Finally, a potential newcomer with manners! He’s down the stairs behind me. Just head down, turn right then continue straight.”

“Thank you.... um what is your name?”

“I’m Tilma the Haggard but you can call me Tilly or Tilma.”

Isilmé giggled and smiled before heading down the stairs. Once down the stairs, the elf discovered a large room with at least nine beds and when she made her way down the hall, she noticed two separate hallways; one on her left and one on her right. Not wanting to distract herself further, she approached the room in front of her. She could hear voices behind the closed doors and she immediately recognized one of the voices. _Vilkas?_

“But I still hear the call of the blood, Kodlak...”  
“We all do. It is our burden to bear.” A fatherly voice explained huskily, “One that we can overcome.”

“You have me and brother obviously. I’m not sure about the others.”

“Leave that to me.”

Isilmé knocked three times on the mahogany doors after she felt they had finished their conversation. She waited patiently for a response. “Enter.” She heard them say. She opened the door and walked in earning a surprised look followed by what sounded like a faint growl from Vilkas. The man beside Vilkas was also a Nord, probably in his twilight years judging from his gray beard and almost grandfather like appearance. His eyes were a startling silver color that projected wisdom far beyond his years and held a light of recognition towards her.

“A stranger comes to our halls. Hmm. Judging from your image, you are the pale elf that assisted Vilkas, Farkas and Aela against the giant?” The Dragonborn blinked her pretty amethyst colored eyes at the old warrior’s question and nodded her head. 

“I would like to join the Companions.”

“Would you now?” Kodlak questioned brightly, his eyes seemingly piercing through her very soul before he stood and circled her. She exhaled quietly, secretly surprised that she was even holding her breath. “Yes. Yes... a certain strength of spirit.” Kodlak added smiling at the young Elf before returning to his chair. Vilkas on the other hand was not convinced and he scoffed irritably causing both Isilmé and Kodlak to turn towards him.

“Master, you’re not truly accepting her, are you?” He growled angrily only to be silenced by a fierce look from the old warrior.  
“I am nobody’s master, Vilkas.” He said firmly as he leaned back in his chair. “Besides, if I recall, Jorrvaskr has empty beds for those with fire in their hearts."

“We don’t even know this stranger."

“Everyone is a stranger until you meet them.”   
Both men turned their heads upon hearing the Dragonborn speak. She covered her mouth embarrassed but caught a warm grin from the old warrior. He clearly agreed with her words. Indeed. The old Nord thought as he nodded towards her. “How are you in a battle, girl?” Isilmé cringed slightly but sighed defeatedly. “I know a few basics in weapons but I still have much to learn.” She admitted.

“Don’t get cocky, you knife-eared-”

“Vilkas! Mind yourself.” Kodlak warned once more. “You forget, not many of us are as fortunate as others. All that matters are their heart.” Vilkas just snorted angrily but Isilmé paid him no mind. She was used to the hostility. Kodlak on the other hand gave her another reassuring smile. “I would like to test your prowess in battle youngling. Vilkas please take her to the yard and see what she’s made of.” “Aye...” Was all Vilkas said as he reluctantly rose from his seat and strolled out of the room with the Elf trailing behind him.

Once outside in the large training yard, it was almost noon and Isilmé noticed a few more members of the Companions she did not recognize. She was then pulled from her thoughts when Vilkas tossed her a steel sword. As she caught it, he drew his own sword. “I still don’t trust you, however, the old man said to have a look at you. So, let’s do this.” He ordered icily and rolled his eyes annoyed at her uncertain expression. “Just have a few swings at me so I can see your form, Elf. I doubt you can even hurt me.”

 _Bring it on, Companion!_ She crossed her arms. She'd show him. “No weapons. Just your fists.” She growled as he looked down at his sword, smirked then shrugged. “If you insist, little Elf.” They both stripped of their weapons and stood in front of each other. After few moments of uneasy silence and brief circling, Vilkas threw the first punch, signaling their dance to begin. She blocked and returned it. The young warrior latched onto her wrist to stop it. The Nord’s eyes widen in shock as the power of her punch jarred him. She then followed through with a swift kick to his chest.

Vilkas stumbled backwards but quickly recovered. Stupid of him for underestimating her. He was forced to change tactics. He’d have to use his body weight against her. As Isilmé attacked, he scooped her leg out from under her, though he made sure not to let her fall too rough. Isilmé noticed his restraint of letting her fall but she had no time to use it to her advantage. Immediately he was on top of her, pinning her down. The woman smirked at him.

Isilmé gathered her strength and slipped her foot against his chest. Pushing up, she projected her weight against him and he soon found the tables turn on him in a swift motion. Vilkas looked up at her in utter disbelief as she hovered over him, her chest heaving slightly as she tried to regain her breath and her silvery hair in disarray. He couldn’t deny her natural ability. She definitely gave the Companion a challenge.  
“Not... Not bad.” He admitted through gritted teeth. Isilmé bowed her head and held out her hand towards him. He glared at her slapping her hand away. Her eyes searched his icy blue stare intently, confused. “You may just barely make it. But you’re still a whelp to us. As such you’ll do what we tell you.” He stated clearly as he picked up his sword and handed it to her.

She cocked an eye brow trying to hide her irritation. “Take it up to the Skyforge to have it sharpened by Eorlund and be careful. It’s worth much more than you are, Knife-Ears.” Vilkas sneered at her. She scowled at him visibly offended at his comment. _What the fuck?! ‘Worth more than me’? Ass..._ She growled silently as she took the blade up.  
Isilmé walked up a stairway leading to the legendary forge and to say she was left speechless was an understatement.

The massive stone eagle perched with its wings outstretched was even more impressive up close. She saw a man bent over a grindstone, humming softly as he worked. She cleared her throat, and was met with another irritated stare. This stare however, didn’t upset her- she was used to grumpy old Nords. After all, her adopted grandfather was one and she loved him fiercely.

She introduced herself, and gave him Vilkas’ sword. Detecting a hint of annoyance in Isilmé, Eorlund offered her some advice. “Don’t let people order you around, girl. Be strong and remember, we were ALL whelps once.” He said in a gruff tone. The Dragonborn gave him a small grin and turned her gaze towards the Skyforge in fascination. The old smith noticed her expression and couldn’t help but smile proudly. “Would you like to learn some history about the Skyforge lass?”

Half an hour later of chatting, Isilmé realized that she should probably let the old man finish his work. “Before you go lass, do you think you can deliver this shield to Aela? I need to get back to my wife.” Euroland said and was even more pleased that she took the shield eager to help him out. She bade him farewell and returned to Jorrvaskr. She found Tilma near the fire cooking what looked to be venison stew when she approached the old woman questioning her where she could find Aela.

Once again, the Dragonborn found herself downstairs but this time in front of a room in the hallway to the left of Kodlak’s chambers. She saw the familiar flame-haired huntress talking with Skjor. “It’s nice to see you again, Aela.” The Nord woman turned towards the pale elf and delight filled her emerald green eyes.

“Ah, it’s good to see you again. Glad you made it.” The Huntress grinned as she took the shield. Skjor glanced between the two women in confusion. “You know this whelp, Aela?” The two women grinned at the shocked expression on the one-eyed Nord.

“Indeed, I do Skjor. She’s the one who took down the giant.”

“I saw her training in the yard with Vilkas.”

Aela smirked broadly as she turned towards the Dragonborn. “Yes. I heard you gave him quite the thrashing.” She teased as the elf woman shifted slightly embarrassed. Talos help me. I hope he never hears that... She shuddered internally at the thought. “Farkas!” Aela called out.

“We’ll have Farkas show you where you’ll be resting your head. I have high expectations of you.” Skjor stated as the sound of heavy footsteps approached and the familiar brawny Nord warrior appeared. His icy blue eyes widen in surprise and excitement. After a brief exchange of words, Farkas escorted her to the large room filled with beds. Once she settled in, the Companion welcomed her with open arms to the family. 

After changing out of her chainmail, Isilmé dressed herself into a warm cotton tunic and deerskin leggings before bumping into Athis and Njada. She learned that Athis once hailed from his homeland in Morrowind but came to Skyrim to join the Companions. He was surprisingly pleased to have another Elf in their company and Isilmé was glad to finally have a fellow Elf call her friend. Njada was less than friendly towards her but Athis reassured her that the cold Nord woman was like that to any newcomer and that she’d warm up in time. 

She watched the odd couple head upstairs to the hall for supper but noticed Kodlak returning with a hot bowl of soup to his chambers. Curiously, she followed him. “May I join you?” She asked as she held the door for him. He nodded briefly. While he ate in silence, the Harbinger watched as Isilmé scanned through his collection of books and tomes. He narrowed his eyes in fascination as she became absorbed in a book about past Harbingers. All in all, her company was pleasant and he bade her good night when she retired for the evening. 

As she laid in her bed with her arms tucked behind her head, Isilmé listened to the sound of her roommates while they slept. She felt a smile of content creep on her face then as she closed her eyes, allowed for sleep to take her. She could not wait for tomorrow to come.


	6. First Solo Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé's first solo mission is a trip to Meridia's temple! Wait... What?!

The next two weeks were spent in training with Farkas or a reluctant Vilkas; Farkas showed her how to make the most of wearing heavy armor and how to maintain maximum maneuverability while his twin begrudgingly gave her tips with two-handed weapons. She and Aela would on occasion have archery practice in the training yard. She had done a few small errands for the Companions, mostly delivering materials and weapons to Eorland, whom Isilmé spent a good deal with during her free-time learning the way of the forge. Then, there was Kodlak.  
She and the Harbinger spent their time together during their evening meals. The old Companion would give her lessons on the history of the Companions and advice when she felt unsure about some of the members.

“Peace youngling. They’ll come around eventually. You have made quite an impression on Aela and Farkas.” He told her one evening while they drank some mead. She glanced up from her tankard as he added with a serene smile. “And those two are excellent in judging character.”

“Hey, ‘Sil. Are you ready for you first official mission?” The brawny man chuckled huskily as he watched the pale Elf strolled upstairs in her chainmail the following morning. She gave him a silent nod. “Where am I going and what am I doing?” She asked while she packed her knapsack with enough bread and dried meats to last at least a week. Turns out she would be heading towards Solitude in the west to a supposed abandoned temple to deal with some restless draugr. Once she had Sylph saddled up and had her map marked, Farkas sent her off with hopes that she would remain safe. 

The ride to Solitude was long and took Isilmé and Sylph four days to arrive. It didn’t help being ambushed by two dragons at once either but she was grateful that she and her horse survived with very little injuries. Sylph whinnied softly as the two finally arrived at the location late in the afternoon. “What is it, girl?” Isilmé questioned then followed her mount’s gaze to find a massive statue of an angel. Her mouth dropped in shock as she double-checked her map.

“Meridia’s Temple?! This is where I’m supposed to be?!”

Meridia was the Daedric Prince of Light and unlike most of her Daedric brethren, was not considered malevolent, which in of itself was a short list. A very short list. Urging the horse under the protection of the dense trees, Isilmé quickly dismounted and grabbed some salted jerky to chew on as she approached the statue. “Why would Draugr infest the temple of a Daedra who despises the undead?” She asked aloud as she braided her long silvery white hair tightly. 

_**“A fair question mortal.”** _

“Who said that?!” The Dragonborn demanded drawing her blade defensively only to find herself enveloped in a blinding white light. As her vision returned, Isilmé discovered a brilliant, bluish white spectral woman of light hovering before her. Curiously, the Elf reached out to touch her only to discover that her hand went through her. She gaped once more when the being of light spoke to her in a surprisingly soft almost motherly tone.

_**“Do not be afraid, mortal. I am the one who called for your assistance. I am Meridia.”** _

“I know of you. Daedric Prince of Light. How did your temple become overrun with the Draugr?” Isilmé asked once more as the ghost circled around her. She had never seen or even spoken to a Daedra before. This was the closest she had ever been to a Daedra. The being pulsed with light once more as it spoke.

_**“A necromancer wormed his way into my temple and desecrated it! Even now he defiles the dead of this pitiful civil war using MY artifact for his vile deeds!”** _

Isilmé nodded sternly and the being pulsed angrily as she continued to explain. Apparently, the necromancer had been stealing the deceased bodies of Stormcloak and Imperial soldiers alike and stowing them away in Meridia’s temple turning their souls into corrupted spirits known as Shades. For what purpose, Isilmé was unsure and she was certain she did not want to find out.  
“What can I do to help?” 

_**“Purge my temple of this filth. Restore my temple to its radiance and I’ll be more then pleased to offer you my arifact: Dawnbreaker.”** _

“And how, may I ask, am I supposed to enter the temple?” Isilmé question the woman and quirked a brow when she shuddered, a melodious chuckle resonating from her throat. Faintly, the Dragonborn heard the sounds of iron doors opening nearby. Taking that as her answer, Isilmé crept inside with her sword at the ready.

She gagged in alarm and disgust at the sight and smell that invaded her nose. “What Stendarr’s holy name?!” She choked as the scent of decay and rotting flesh forced her to cough. All around her were what looked to be burnt corpses, bodies drained of blood, even bodies that were mangled by animals. Swallowing hard, she proceeded forward.   
The Shades were a creepier sight than the bodies. Cloaked in shadows, the skeletal figures hovered eerily through the halls of the temple, their red orbs scanning blankly for her. She managed to purge most of the temple and a few hours later, she found herself facing off against the necromancer.

The dark wizard was a crafty one. Not only did he have control over the Shades, but he also used a variety of Destruction magic.   
It was a grueling battle. She finally finished off the necromancer only to have to deal with his Shade. It constantly bombarded her with frost spells and even managed to disarm her of her weapon! Thankfully, she managed to defeat and eradicate the nasty creature with a discarded battle-axe. As the foul being fizzled away into nothing, the Dragonborn found her attention drawn to a familiar being of light dancing around a pedestal in the back of the chamber.

_**"You have done well, mortal. Now the dead can rest in peace from the necromancer’s foul experiments and as promised, I give you my sword, Dawnbreaker. Wield it and may the undead tremble at its power. May it serve you well in your travels.”** _

Isilmé shielded her eyes as a sword bathed in light appeared before her pulsing with a brilliant light. She marveled at the craftsmanship. The blade itself was a golden color and wickedly sharp. The hilt was mysterious. Instead of a traditional guard on a sword, there was some sort of crystal that radiated a pulsating white light. Deciding not to incur the wrath of the Daedric Prince, Isilmé collected her original blade then made a custom scabbard for _Dawnbreaker_. 

Once she made her way back out of the temple, Isilmé whistled for Sylph to come. As soon as she mounted the mare, they were on the road once more. Thankfully, the ride was peaceful. In three days, the Dragonborn made it to Riverwood. She left Sylph at Gerdur’s stable and decided to stay at the Sleeping Giant Inn. She welcomed the crackling fire pit in the center of the main entrance. 

“You’re that strange Elf who’s been poking around here huh?” Isilmé turned to the source of the voice. Behind her was a woman who barely came up to eye-level. A Breton? She figured. Bretons were residents of High Rock and known for their prowess in magic among mankind. “I hope I’m not causing any trouble ma’am. My name is Isilmé.” Isilmé introduced herself. “Delphine. I’m the innkeeper. You here for a room?” The woman asked curtly.

“Yes. Just for the night. I’ll be gone by dawn’s light.”

“I see. Ten septims.” 

The pale Elf removed the gold from her knapsack and followed Delphine to a vacant room. As she settled in for the night, Isilmé closed the door then proceeded to undress into a night shirt. While sitting on her bed, she began polishing the armor. It was a welcomed relief to be free of it. She ultimately decided on just riding back to Jorrvaskr in her cotton tunic and deer-hide pants. Besides the chainmail could use some repair. 

She glanced at her knapsack once more. She had plenty of dragon scales, enough to make a new set of chainmail and a collection of dragon fangs that could make for some good daggers or even decorations. Maybe even a new bow! She smiled proudly at herself, though it felt strange that she could absorb the dragons’ souls. Not only did they heal her wounds and injuries, but she also gained what she believed to be their knowledge as well.

They spoke in a strange language all their own. _Dovahzul_... She didn’t know why she understood the language however she could only surmise that with her being Dragonborn, she automatically knew the language of the creatures. Still, she wasn’t sure WHY or even HOW she was this legendary heroine. She finished her work and heaved a sigh. Stifling a yawn, the pale Elf unbraided her hair and curled up under the fur blankets drifting off to sleep. For once, she had a night without nightmares.

She awoke late in the afternoon much to her alarm. “I must have been more than a little tired last night.” She admitted before running her delicate fingers through her tangled silver hair. Once she tamed and smoothed out her hair, she braided it once more and gathered up her belongings. She thanked Delphine for the room. The innkeeper gave her a cold nod. Isilmé slung her pack unto her back and left the inn. She smiled as Gerdur walked Sylph over to her, saddled and ready to go.

Waving farewell, Isilmé rode back to Whiterun oddly feeling excited to return to the Companions. She chuckled as she patted the pommel of her newly acquired Daedric sword, _Dawnbreaker_. By the Nine Divines, she would have quite the tale to tell indeed. Least now she wouldn’t have to worry about Draugrs getting too close or even vampires. She’d probably ask Athis for lessons on dual-wielding later. She arrived at Jorrvaskr and made a beeline to the Skyforge, calling out Eorlund. The old Nord was more than overjoyed to see her.

“Now, what can I do for you today lass?” He asked gruffly as he watched her place her chainmail and a large pile of dragon scales on the work bench. His eyebrows nearly vanished into his receding hairline. He let out a low whistle. “Impressive lass. I’m guessing you'd like me to improve your chainmail with these scales?” He questioned. She shook her head earning a curious look.

“I was actually hoping to have a custom armor made from these scales.” Isilmé informed smiling. Eorlund stroked his beard intently but gave the Dragonborn a rare smile. “Tell you what, I can make you the new armor and repair your mail in exchange for the leftover scales. I'll consider that payment, Isilmé. Run along.” Isilmé smiled softly. “By the way the Jarl visited Kodlak while you were away. You should visit him. Don't fret, I'm certain he's eagerly awaiting your return.” Eorland explained sensing her distress. She nodded in agreement and headed into the Companions' home. 

She smiled as Farkas greeted her with his puppy like eyes. He had her sit at the grand table for a bit for them chat. It felt good to unwind and relax after a long journey. When she told him where she had gone, her Shield-Brother's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “A Daedric Prince was the client?!” He questioned in a hushed tone. She nodded earnestly as she showed him _Dawnbreaker_. The stone pulsated with its warm light.   
“I have more stories to tell but I need to see Kodlak. Is he available?” Isilmé chuckled as she closed Farkas' mouth. “You shouldn’t leave your mouth gaping wide like that. You’ll catch flies.” 

He scoffed playfully waving her hand away. She smirked and headed downstairs to Kodlak's room. Before she even raised her hand, she heard the Harbinger call out for her to enter. She timidly moved into the room and closed the door. “You carry a massive burden on your shoulders, youngling. Or should I call you Dragonborn?” The Harbinger questioned as his silver eyes locked on her purple eyes. 

When he gestured to the chair across from him, Isilmé took the seat silently, refusing to look at him. She felt ashamed. “I am not angry, Isilmé. All of us have a burden to bear.” Kodlak smiled gently as he lifted her chin with a calloused finger. “From what the Jarl has explained to me, you only just recently discovered that you are Dragonborn and that the Greybeards have summoned you.” Isilmé nodded averting her gaze. Kodlak’s eyes softened sympathetically.

“I’m scared...” 

“There is no shame in being afraid. Without fear, there cannot be courage. But you are strong little Elf.” 

The Dragonborn shifted slightly as the Harbinger withdrew his hand. He then crossed his arms thoughtfully and gave the young elven woman another comforting smile. Although he was old, Kodlak could see, practically smell the Dragonborn’s inner strength. “What should I do?” She asked, her luminous purple colored eyes searching his. He could give her an answer but he wanted her to find the answer herself. “What is it _you_ want to do?”

Isilmé remained quiet for a good long while until she finally graced him with small smirk and answered. “I don’t think I am ready to meet the Greybeards just yet. I believe I should learn all that I can about myself first. That way, I have a better chance at being ready for whatever comes my way.” “Spoken like a true Companion.” Kodlak beamed at her with pride then glanced at the door. “Farkas, I know you are there. You can stop eavesdropping.”

Isilmé paled as the door opened and there stood the brawny twin. He rubbed his head embarrassed. How much did he hear? The pale Elf thought in horror. As though he could read her thoughts, Farkas lowered his head shamefully before staring at her with his icy blue eyes. He knew! “Farkas, please don’t tell anyone. No, not even Vilkas. That will just add fuel to the fire...” She begged but exhaled in relief when he nodded in agreement.   
Deciding to change the topic, Farkas pointed to her knapsack. “I noticed the fangs in your pack earlier. Are they really dragon teeth?” He asked innocently. Taken off-guard by his question, both Kodlak and Isilmé glanced at each other than burst into fits of laughter. “Yes, Farkas. These are dragon fangs.” She snickered before tossing him one. He caught it with one hand and whistled impressed. When he brought back to her, she shook her head.

“Keep it.”

“You sure?”

“I have at least a dozen more in the pack. Consider it a souvenir.” She insisted as she handed another to Kodlak who thanked her in turn. She followed Farkas to the main hall where she finished her tale at Meridia’s temple. They shared a few more laughs and he commented on how surprised he was when she defeated Aela in a drinking match. Everyone assumed Isilmé was a lightweight when it came to alcohol but they were wrong and the Dragonborn found herself with an extra five hundred gold septims to her name. Although, the headache she would receive later was less then pleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé's primary weapon throughout Part 1 is Dawnbreaker. ( fun fact this weapon is so handy with dungeons and vampires.


	7. Proving Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Should be simple right? Go to Dustman's Cairn, retrieve the Fragment of Wuuthrad, return to Jorrvaskr? Nope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm revising this chapter. Also been up since 11pm last night writing it. Bare with me

“Ah there you are.” Said Skjor one morning as he beckoned the pale Elf over to him. It had been almost a week since her return from Meridia’s temple and she had grown exponentially. Sheathing Dawnbreaker into its custom scabbard, Isilmé strolled towards the one-eyed Companion in confusion. She dodged one of Athis’ punches that was directed at Torvar. It was normal for the two to be seen sparring in the courtyard. Though she wished they would be more aware of their surroundings. “Were you looking for me, Skjor?” She questioned as the old man drummed his fingers on the pommel of his sword before responding. “Yes. Your time, it seems, has come.”

The Dragonborn quirked a brow curiously. _What? Am I dying?_ She thought to herself before he continued. “While you were away, a scholar came to us. Said he knew where we could find another fragment of Wuuthrad. He also seemed a fool to me, however if he’s right then the honor of the Companions demands that we seek it out.” “What does this have to do with me exactly, Skjor?” Isilmé asked while braiding her hair tightly. The old man smirked admiring her sharpness and the fact that she was unfazed by his brusque nature. “This is more than a simple errand, but we felt that it was right to be your trial.” Skjor informed sternly as the Dragonborn nodded her head.

She turned to see the twins walking out from the mead hall towards her. Although Farkas was the biggest between the two, Isilmé learned that Vilkas was actually the older twin and also unlike his twin; Vilkas was still very hostile to her. “Farkas will be your Shield-Brother on this venture. Try not to disappoint.” Warned Skjor as he strode over to Athis and Torvar to break up their now out-of-control fight. “If anything happens to my brother, I will hold you responsible, ELF!” Vilkas practically snarled at her before turning his attention towards a training dummy.

“Don’t mind him, ‘Sil.” Farkas rested a firm but gentle hand on the Elf’s shoulder secretly marveling at the fact she barely came up to his shoulder. “I hope you’ve readied yourself.”  
“Farkas, where are we heading to exactly?”  
“Dustman’s Cairn. It’s bit far, so we’ll need our horses.”

Isilmé nodded her head in understanding then chased after her Shield-Brother as he sprinted away from Jorrvaskr. Once at the stables, the Dragonborn witnessed the large Nord saddling a large Clydesdale with a dark chestnut coat. She could barely restrain a giggle as she saw Sylph whinny impatiently to her mistress. “I’ve never seen a horse as lean as yours... I mean as... ah... elegant?” Farkas mentioned awkwardly. The pale Elf smiled reassuringly and readied her mount. “I’m not surprised. Sylph is a Friesian. They’re known for their elegant features along with incredible intelligence.” She explained after bridling the mare.

“Impressive.” Farkas grinned as he agilely hopped on to the horse’s back then patted the creature’s neck proudly. “Well, Magnus here may not be as pretty lookin’ as Sylph but he’s a great horse.” The stallion snorted proudly and swished his tail for emphasis. The young woman chuckled while adjusting herself in the saddle and making sure _Dawnbreaker_ was properly secured, gave her Shield-Brother a firm nod. A hearty laugh escaped Farkas’ throat and the two set off. Isilmé was deep in thought as they rode past the still destroyed western watch tower.

“You have quite the serious expression on your face ‘Sil. You alright?”

“Something doesn’t add up, Farkas.” The Dragonborn stated. From all the books she’s read; Wuuthrad was a battle-axe wielded by the legendary Ysgramor, Harbinger of the Original Five-Hundred Companions. It was his personal weapon against the Elves of the Merethic Era until it shattered at one point in the Second Era. “Why would a scholar tell us where a fragment of Wuuthrad is? The weapon of Ysgramor is priceless even if it is in pieces.”

“They would if they could not retrieve it themselves.” Farkas answered thoughtfully before adding gravely, “However, I agree with you that there is something off about that and I have a hunch that we may be walking into a trap.” Isilmé watched as the Companion’s war painted eyes furrowed warily. Deciding to quicken their pace, they urged their horses into a brisk gallop until after a couple of hours, arrived at a massive burial ground.

 _Is this what I think it is_? Isilmé questioned herself as she felt her gut twist with dread. Glancing at his Shield-Sister, Farkas gave her a curt nod. “Yep. This is Dustman’s Cairn and if you’re thinking that this place is dangerous then your gut is correct. It is infested with Draugr.” She swallowed hard as they tied their mounts to a stone pillar beside the mound. She drew _Dawnbreaker_ from its scabbard for comfort before the two entered the catacomb. 

“Looks like someone’s been digging here.” Isilmé heard Farkas growl and she glanced over her shoulder to see he had his hand on his broadsword. “And recently.”

He was right. There were a few Draugr that laid slain at their feet and from what the Dragonborn could tell, they had awakened no less than a half hour ago. The woman didn’t feel comfortable knowing that there were others in this tomb with her and Farkas. She threw a quick glance in her Shield-Brother's direction from the corner of her eye. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, she did feel a sort of connection the man since his second introduction at Jorrvaskr. Both he and Kodlak had expressed a warmth towards her that some of the other Shield-Siblings seemed to lack; Farkas’ excitement when she joined the Companions made Isilmé feel welcomed. Like she belonged.

Approaching the stone table in the center of the small room, an abandoned book caught her attention and she lifted it up. She blew away a thick layer of dust from the cover. Coughing slightly, she brought the tome to the fire's light.

“ _The Battle of Sancre Tor_?” She read the title aloud, turning towards the Nord warrior. “I haven’t read this book yet.”

“It can help you get a grasp on wielding two-handed weapons. Vilkas is an expert and can teach you better than a book.” Farkas responded huskily. “Besides, a book can only take you so far.”

The elf rolled her eyes before making a snark remark, “I would ask him if he'd just remove that damn stick lodged firmly in his arse.” Vilkas didn’t like her; he made it obvious the moment they first met and even more so after Kodlak had taken her in as a new member of the Companions. Farkas chuckled at her retort.

As they continued further down into Dustman’s Cairn, Isilmé and Farkas came across even more Draugr tombs; laying a large hand on the woman’s shoulder, the Nord brought her to a halt. “Careful around the burial stones.” He said in a low voice, just barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back.” They nodded in silent agreement and pressed forward. The sweet, gentle and fierce nature of the young Elf woman was something that Farkas easily noticed during their time together in Jorrvaskr; he was still unsure as to why Kodlak had taken her in, but he trusted the old man’s judgment and he would do his best to help her succeed. Besides, she was full of surprises.

Upon reaching a large and well-lit area, Isilmé moved to a bookshelf in hopes of finding something useful: empty wine bottles, some burnt books and an empty soul gem... Nothing useful. She peeked at Farkas over her shoulder; he stood at the far end of the room, searching the other bookshelves and pulled a tome from the top. He seemed to be attempting a guess at what the book's contents held. Sensing her gaze on him, he suddenly glanced back at her and gave her a shy smile. The Dragonborn turned away, unable to keep eye-contact with those piercing icy blue eyes marked by the dark war paint.

 _His eyes_... She thought, her mind wandering back to her youth.... _they remind me of_... No. The Nord she met as a child had stormy gray eyes. 

She shook her head reminding herself of her objective. She then noticed a loose stone sticking out suspiciously on a wall in a tiny adjoining room. The Dragonborn’s instincts were screaming _trap_ as she approached it cautiously. She pushed the block back into place. _Click!_ She heard the sound of rattling metal above her and she made a dive out of the room but winced when she felt iron bars pin her feet in place. Luckily, she didn’t feel like any bones were broken however she realized that she was now stuck. She huffed in irritation. “Great... Just great.” She muttered to herself.

“You alright, ‘Sil?” The warrior walked over to her then sighedb relieved that she was alright. While the sight of his new comrade being trapped made him upset he smiled playfully at her. “You look ridiculous.” He added, trying to cheer her up.

“Yes, I am well aware.”

“Are you?”

“Are you the one with your legs pinned?”

“No worries, ‘Sil. Just sit tight while I find a release.”

“Hahaha. Farkas, where could I possibly go?”

He snickered and she puffed her cheeks indignantly before smiling embarrassed. At least he was trying to cheer her up. Isilmé was thankful that Farkas was here to help her. Before the Nordic man could even attempt his search for the release, the Dragonborn’s elven ears twitched slightly; hearing faint footsteps in the distance. She then noticed multiple shadows moving behind her Shield-Brother, seemingly trying to sneak up on him. _Danger! Threat!_ Her instincts cried. “Farkas! Behind you!” Farkas drew his sword and turned his back to his Shield-Sister, taking a fighting stance.

Two men and three women all heavily armored surrounded the lone Companion; the hatred that their eyes held for Farkas almost seemed to be on a personal level. Their cold, unfeeling eyes made Isilmé’s blood boil. _No! I won’t let you hurt him!_ The Dragonborn gritted her teeth, feeling her Thu’um rising within her, ready to be released. The two Companions we're right. They walked into a trap.

“It’s time to die, dog!"

“We knew you’d be coming here.”

“This is your last mistake, Companion!” They each took turns boasting, wicked grins plastering their cruel faces. 

“Wait, which one is that?” One of the females asked curiously. “Doesn’t matter.” The leader sneered harshly. “He wears that armor. He dies!” 

“What about the elf bitch behind him?” One of the men asked glancing at the trapped elf.  
“Kill her too.” The leader smirked maliciously.

The second woman chuckled proudly as their fearless leader stepped closer to Farkas, drawing what looked to be a sword made of silver. “Killing you will make for an excellent story.” She laughed excitedly. 

“ _ **FUS!!!**_ ” Snarled the Dragonborn as a powerful shockwave erupted from her lips and sent her Shield-Brother's adversaries stumbling backwards. Isilmé may be trapped but she wasn’t helpless. Taking advantage of the Elf’s assistance, Farkas withdrew his broadsword a dangerous smile forming on his face and his eyes flashed an amber color as he spoke in a dark tone. “None of you will be alive to tell the tale.” He snarled at the intruders. The Companion doubled over in pain, visibly growing in size and tearing through his steel armor.

The Dragonborn couldn’t believe what she was witnessing; he was changing, no, transforming; losing all traces of humanity. It was only when a feral howl echoed through the walls of Dustman’s Cairn did the warrior’s true nature reveal itself: Farkas was a werewolf, over twice as big, ten times stronger. His coat was as black as night but his eyes still remained an icy blue. He licked his gleaming fangs as another threatening snarl left his throat. 

The battle was almost instantaneous as the intruders attacked him at once with their silver swords at hand, each one promising a violent death. The beast struck the first man before he could cast a spell on him, the powerful blow shattering his skull and ending his life swiftly. The second woman who had dreamt of spinning tales of her great battle against the creature of Hircine wasn’t so lucky. She had attempted to land a blow on Farkas, only to be met with his claws puncturing her torso and being left to bleed to her death. Isilmé could hardly believe her eyes.

As Farkas left the best for last and eliminated the leader in the most brutal manner, he glanced back and his stare connected with that of the Elf; his icy blue eyes still miraculously held the kindness of the Nord. Even if they had a hint of dangerous charm, an animalistic bloodlust. Dropping to all fours, the werewolf approached her, tilting his head curiously at the fact that this woman wasn’t afraid of him. Farkas nuzzled her cheek reassuringly with his muzzle. After what seemed like an eternity, Farkas lopped off away from her. The old gate groaned then creaked heavily and suddenly began rising, the grinding of its mechanism echoing loudly in the cave.

Feeling her foot was freed, Isilmé rubbed her ankle then stood up, dusting herself off. “I hope I didn’t scare you.” Farkas returned to the room scratching the back of his head sheepishly, having returned back to normal and donning his steel wolf armor which was completely undamaged from his previous transformation. To his surprise and relief, his Shield-Sister approached him, eyes filled with concern. 

“You’re not hurt, are you? Anything broken?”

“I’m fine... Why aren’t you afraid?”

“Why should I be afraid you?”

He shifted slightly uncomfortable. Her soft chuckle brought him back from his thoughts and the Companion smiled shyly. “Come on,” he stated huskily, “We still have Draugr to worry about.” She nodded firmly. 

After a while, they had entered a portion of Dustman’s Cairn and they continued, the stench of earth followed them as the Companions pushed into the ruins. Strands of silver light shone through the winding cracks of the ceiling illuminating a pile of broken stone at the far end of the room. It looked like the Word Wall Isilmé encountered at Bleak Falls Barrow, however this one was destroyed by the ravages of time. Sadly, this one held no voice to her, nor could the Elf feel it’s magical pull. She was however still able to see the faint inscriptions on the rubble and decided to investigate.

“Is that Dragon Tongue?” Farkas quirked his brow as he attempted to read the rock.

“It’s Dovahzul, yes.” 

“So, what does the rock say?”

Isilmé smirked as her eyes glittered mischievously. “ _Mu zin daar golt wah fin laat se fin Kruziik Fahliil wo nu nok vonun ko fin denek daar mu wundun nau. Mu draal tol gein sul, un fahdonveysun fen kos vokrii._ ” She said in Dragon Tongue, resisting the urge to laugh as Farkas narrowed his eyes trying to comprehend her. Sagging his shoulders in defeat, he sighed. “Translation?” 

“‘ _We honor this place to the last of the... something... Elves who now lay unseen in the earth that we travel on. We pray that one day, our friendship will be restored_.’” She translated. “Think you can teach me that language?” Her Shield-Brother asked hopefully and to his delight, she agreed. They traveled down a few alternate paths when Isilmé suddenly stopped, her brow furrowing. She smacked a hand against the brawny Nord’s armor bringing him to a halt. He turned his head towards hers. “Something isn’t right. There’s way too many coffins here.” She whispered. "This place _IS_ a burial...” He retorted.

And as true as his word was, the Dragonborn’s instincts told her otherwise and she wasn’t going to ignore them again. She narrowed her eyes at Farkas who reluctantly leaned back as she turned back to the coffins deep in thought. She then closed her eyes as she called upon her Thu’um again and another word crept into her mind. _Fo_... _Frost_... She learnt the Word from one of the slain dragons she encountered on her first mission. 

“ _ **Fo!!**_ ” She whispered. His senses on high alert, Farkas heard a soft crackling echoing from her faint voice, followed by a sudden chill in the air. A glimmer coated each stone, linking them together one by one. Within a matter of seconds, a mirror-like path had formed before them, making its way down to each alcove. Isilmé nodded, satisfied at her work. “There. That will hold the remaining Draugr.” She said as he chased after her. Soon they arrived in a large chamber where a single coffin stood. Somehow this did not settle the Dragonborn’s nerves. Not one bit. 


	8. Honor Proven

The two Companions glanced around the massive chamber warily. They noticed a table directly behind the coffin and behind the stone table, a massive wall with what looked like claw-like markings shimmering and to the Dragonborn, she heard it singing to her. It was almost identical to the one at the Barrow. Farkas and Isilmé cautiously approached the table where they saw what looked to be a fragment of a battle-axe. _That must be the fragment of Wuuthrad._ Isilmé thought. Just as they took the fragment, the ancient casket’s lid shattered violently. The two warriors paled. 

“Fuck...” They said in unison.

A boney hand crept out of the opening, slowly pushing the heavy stone out of the way. The draugr from within emerged, peering around the abandoned cairn in an attempt to recall its memories. It seemed so lost, so alone; and for the moment, it even seemed harmless. However, that moment was quickly cut short when its empty gaze landed on the pair, the once hollow eye sockets coming to life with a blue glow. The creature than bore its rotten teeth at them, a familiar growl of angry draugr echoing in the vast room.

“ _Tafiir._..” It rasped through its decomposed vocal cords, “ _Tafiir_!”

Stepping back, Farkas pushed Isilmé behind him and readied his sword. “What’s it saying ‘Sil?” 

“He said 'thief'.” She answered then felt a shiver crawl up her spine. This draugr was different. She didn’t like it. “This one is more powerful than the others, Farkas. We need to be careful!” Her Shield-Brother grinned excited for the challenge, brandishing his sword defensively he stared intently at the draugr. Before the pale Elf could produce a protest, the two were met with an unexpected attack.

“ _ **Fus, Ro DAH!!!**_ ” The creature shouted. The Unrelenting Force shout slammed in to the two Companions. Isilmé and Farkas were slammed against the Word Wall behind them, the brawny Nord literally cracking the stone and slightly denting his armored back from the impact. The two rubbed their heads, groaning and wincing from the draugr’s power. They could faintly hear the banging of stone from the coffins Isilmé had sealed earlier, confirming her suspicions of the multitude of draugrs within. Gods, he should have heeded ‘Sil’s warning... 

“Don’t say, ‘I told you so’.”

“Don’t count on it, Farkas. I told you so.” The Dragonborn muttered before going rigid as she heard the wall behind her whisper into her ears. _**YOL**_... “ _Fire_? A new Word?” She added then blinked in understanding before jolting up to her feet drawing Dawnbreaker just as the undead pulled out a glowing blade from its resting place. “What the- Where's my sword?!” Farkas let out frustrated growl when he realized it was no longer in his grasp. Isilmé cleared her throat, pointing behind the draugr’s feet. Apparently, after the two were thrown back into the wall, the Companion’s greatsword was thrown out of his hands.

“For Arkay’s sake!” Pinching the bridge of his nose, the black-haired Nord fought back the growing headache. He disliked being apart from his weapon in this situation. Frankly, his Shield-Sister couldn’t blame him. “Can you distract it long enough for me to retrieve it?” Isilmé nodded. On his signal, they both rushed out in the open as the Elf crossed blades with the creature that flinched at her sword’s blinding light. Her Thu’um once again rising to the surface, she felt the warmth of the sun, the heat of a fire and she shouted. 

“ ** _YOL!_** ” 

A small fireball left her lips and hit the draugr head on. Even with its flesh ablaze, the undead latched on to her arm then like she was nothing more than a ragdoll, she was thrown off it. Farkas, who managed to retrieve his sword, was quick to spot his Shield-Sister and instinctively stretched out his free arm, catching her. He tightened his arm around her smaller frame as she collided with him. “Are you alright?”

“Just had the wind knocked out of me. But I will be. Judging from its strength and ability to use the Voice, I wager it’s actually a Deathlord.” She muttered rubbing her throat. Despite her pain, she peered back at the undead’s direction visibly irritated. Setting her back onto the ground, the Companion uttered, “Catch your breath. My turn to deal with it.” He didn’t wait for her argument. With his two-handed sword back in his hands, Farkas squared off with the draugr Deathlord. Head spinning, body aching... Isilmé inhaled deeply then after exhaling, felt her body recover from its injuries.

Once recovering her senses, the Dragonborn quickly glanced over to check on her Shield-Brother, wincing as she caught sight of the Deathlord connecting its skull into Farkas’ head. A visible wound opened above his brow, sending a crimson trickle down his face. Rage filled her once more, granting her a second wind and she rose to her feet. Farkas needed help, and he needed it now! Taking _Dawnbreaker_ into her grasp, she hurried in their direction; to her horror, she found the Companion knocked to the ground, and the Deathlord standing above him. 

“ _Aav fin Dilon!_ ” The creature bellowed triumphantly; sword raised above its head. Isilmé charged towards the undead. She let loose a roar of fury, one that could rival even a dragon, catching the Deathlord’s attention and intercepted its next blow on Farkas. The Elf and the Deathlord’s swords clashed together like the sound of thunder. “ _Ney, hi Raan!_ ” She snarled, purple eyes glowing angrily and she shoved the draugr back!   
“ _Raan?!_ ” The Deathlord exclaimed as it staggered, clearly offended by the Dragonborn’s insolence. “ _Pahlok_!” 

“ _Niid! DOVAH!_ ” Isilmé growled as she continuously barraged the Deathlord with a flurry of attacks. It was strange, as if the two warriors were conveying their emotions through each blow. The clash of metal making the words. With a swift kick, the Elf sent the draugr flying back into its coffin where she stood over it, her sword pulsing with its blinding light. She tilted her head when the draugr chuckled despite it knowing it had lost this battle. It looked her dead in the eye. “ _Zu qiilaan us hi, Dovahkiin..._ ”

“ _Geh. Zu grah pruzah. Zu’u zin zu_.” She answered before driving her blade through the Deathlord and its body exploded in a beautiful display of white and gold light. 

Farkas, who had returned to his senses long enough to catch her last attack, watched as she placed a hand to her heart before turning to her Shield-Brother. “What did you say to him?” He asked her wincing when she began rubbing a healing salve that she removed from her bag on to his wound. “Just told him he fought well.” She then began cleaning the blood from his face biting her lip when he grumbled saying he wasn’t a child. Once finished with her work, they left the Cairn. Thank the gods...

Knowing that it would take the two Companions a few hours to return to Jorrvaskr, Isilmé and Farkas decided to take their time and enjoy the ride back. “So...” She said softly, stealing a glance at the Nord riding beside her, “are all the Companions werewolves or is it just you?” He returned her gaze and shook his head. “Not everyone, ‘Sil. But the members of the Circle are. It’s a secret to everyone else though.” Farkas answered. They continued on in pleasurable silence for a while.

“Farkas?”

“Hmm?”

“Who... Who were those people that attacked us?”

Her Shield-Brother pulled his horse to a stop. The Dragonborn followed suit. His tone turned serious but she swore he was actually growling instead. “They’re bad people known as the Silver Hand. They don’t like werewolves. So, they don’t like us either and you should be careful around them. Especially if you’re alone.” They continue their ride in silence. Suddenly, Isilmé got a fun idea and stole a mischievous glance at her Shield-Brother who gave her a suspicious look.

“Last one to the stables buys the victor mead for a week!” His eyes widen as Sylph began sprinting ahead and Farkas let out a whoop of delight as Magnus sprinted into a gallop after them. There was no way he would lose a bet like that! The two warriors raced through the plains, slowing to a canter as they reached the cobblestone road with the Dragonborn in the lead and Farkas nipping at their heels. After dealing with the Draugr AND the Silver Hand; it felt good to have a friendly competition.

By the time they arrived at the Whiterun stables, the sun had already descended behind the mountains and their race ended in a draw. While they freed their mounts from their tack and bridles, Skulvar readied the stalls. “So, does this mean we both buy each other's drinks?” Farkas joked, watching Isilmé brush down Sylph. She answered with a smirk. “I have no qualms with the idea.” The large Nord laughed once more then set to cleaning Magnus’ large hooves.   
Once their horses were settled in their stalls, Farkas and Isilmé returned to Jorrvaskr where they discovered Vilkas waiting for them with a crackling torch in his hand. Mostly waiting for his twin, the Elf surmised.

“Took your sweet time, eh?” The older twin said in his usual coldness but his gaze softened at his younger twin who rolled his eyes. Following the twins to the training yard, she found not only Skjor and Aela but every member of the Companions waiting for them. A few were handling lit torches and the soft crackling of the fires relaxed the Elf immensely. Once everyone was situated, Kodlak motioned for her to stand before him and the Circle and she obeyed.

“Brothers and Sisters of the Circle, today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. This woman has endured, has challenged and has shown her valor. Who will speak for her?” The old Nord questioned as he scanned the circle of warriors. 

It was Farkas who spoke in answer. “I stand witness to the soul before us.”

“Would you raise your shield in her defense?”

“We would stand at her back, so the world might never overtake us!” Aela and Farkas stated in sync.

“And would you raise your sword in her honor?”

“Our swords stand ready to meet the blood of her foes!” Isilmé heard Athis, Skjor, Aela and Farkas answer in kind. She found it difficult to suppress the growing smile on her face. The Harbinger smiled proudly in turn and he bowed his head in turn. “Then the judgement of this Circle is complete. Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call.” He declared.

“It shall be so!” The entirety of the Companions declared as well before dousing the torches in buckets of water. Vilkas approached her extending his hand asking curtly for the fragment in which the Dragonborn relinquished calmly. “Well lass, you’re one of us now. I trust you won’t disappoint.” She felt Kodlak’s hand on her shoulder causing her to jump. She turned towards the old Nord’s kind, silvery eyes and she nodded a little.

Old Kodlak could tell something was bothering the Elf. “Come with me, Isilmé. We can talk in my study.” “I... alright Harbinger...” She relented nervously. Once inside, they watched old Tilma place platters of food upon the great table in the mead hall when she glanced at them. “Shall I bring you your supper to your study, Kodlak?” The old woman asked in her feeble voice. “If you don’t mind, Tilly.” Soon, he and the Dragonborn were downstairs heading to his chambers. Upon entering the study, he and Isilmé cleared a small table just in time for Tilma to walk in with two plates of food.

“Thanks Tilly.” The Elf beamed gratefully.

Tilma smiled in turn. Finishing pouring their drinks the old woman left the study to deal with the rowdy bunch upstairs. “Now that we’re alone, what seems to be troubling you?” The Dragonborn averted her gaze, her mind pondering before meeting his gaze head-on.

“I.... I know that you and the Circle are werewolves.” She admitted hastily and Kodlak raised his brow in alarm. As she explained how she learned about the Companions, mainly Farkas, Vilkas, Skjor, Aela and Kodlak himself, being werewolves, the Harbinger began stroking his beard studying his Shield-Sister as she looked down at her plated ashamed.

“Yes, it is true and yes, few us share the blood of the beast. Some take to it more than others.” He confirmed before gesturing to their food. Eat first, talk more after. During the brief time that Isilmé had been with the Companions, Farkas and Aela had grown very attached to the pale Elf. Kodlak, however, saw the young Dragonborn more as his own flesh and blood... more so than he admitted. Thankfully, she felt the same in turn.

Her first few years of life was spent being raised by an elderly Nord man who took her in as his own. However, he died suddenly during her ninth year and she was taken to ‘ _work_ ’ with the Thalmor only to be exiled to Solsthiem. She banished that memory and decided to think of a different topic. 

“What about your opinion on the beast blood, Kodlak?”

Kodlak chuckled warily as he finished his ale before answering, “Well, I grow old. My mind turns towards the horizon. To Sovngarde. I worry that Shor won’t call an ‘animal’ to glory as he wound a true Nord warrior.” She tilted her head. Sensing her confusion, he continued, “Living as beasts draws our souls closer to the Daedric Lord Hircine. The Daedric Prince of the Hunt. Some may prefer an eternity in his vast Hunting Grounds, but not I. I crave the fellowship of Sovngarde.” Isilmé nodded her head intently, eyes understanding. He smiled thoughtfully to himself. Ever since he fell ill, Kodlak had rarely left his room, often too busy with his studies and yet, he always found the Dragonborn’s visits comforting in his twilight years.

“Kodlak, are you looking for a cure?” She gathered her courage to ask.

“Yes pup, but it has not been easy,” He admitted then placed a comforting hand atop her head chuckling fondly, “However, you don’t need to share my worries.” “Well, have you tried looking towards to the past for the answers you seek?” She questioned and his eyes widen in disbelief. He hadn’t thought about that. “I have not, but I will. You should get some rest now.” She nodded in agreement and collected their empty tankards and plates.

Isilmé returned downstairs after cleaning up the dishes for Tilma to find Vilkas waiting for her. The hair on the back of her neck stood as the two locked eyes. “Vilkas? Is something wrong?” She asked keeping her voice calm and her heart steady. The Nord crossed his arms over his chest. “Just because Kodlak and the others accepted you does not mean that I do.” He said icily, blue eyes glaring deep into her purple eyes, “You are not worthy of being a Companion.” Every word he spoke was a dagger to the Dragonborn’s heart. Gritting her teeth in anger, she refused to let him beat down on her any longer. “Why do you hate me so damn much?!” She demanded, “ Enough Vilkas!”

He sneered at her, mock plastering his face. “What’s the matter?” He approached the Elf who stood her ground. “I thought you knife-eared snobs enjoyed the strife of us humans. After all, you elves think you're descended from Gods! Damn you and you spineless, foolish creatures! Damn you and those who raised you to Oblivion!” That was his last mistake. There was no hesitation this time as Isilmé’s eyes flashed and her _Thu’um_ left her lips before she could hold back.

“ _ **Fus!**_ ”

Vilkas was viciously thrown back by the shockwave she Shouted him with. To say that he was taken aback by the sudden assault would be an understatement. Supporting his weight on his elbows as he sat up. He gritted his teeth angrily. Elves were incapable of Shouting and yet she managed to do so with ease! Not caring how or why she possessed this power, he leapt to his feet. “By Ysmir, you’ll pay for that you knife-eared bitch!” The Companion roared. 

“How dare you insult my grandfather!” An indescribable fury blared in Isilmé’s once gentle features; her once luminous eyes were glowing an angry gold, dancing with the violence and aggression of the dragon hidden within, setting ablaze a raging inferno deep within her heart and soul. The building was vibrating slightly from her voice. “Insult me if you wish! But I will not stand idly by as you speak ill of my grandfather!” Despite being shorter than him, she advanced towards him in confrontation. So, this is the strength of spirit Kodlak saw in her. Vilkas was forced to admit to himself obviously caught off guard with her change in attitude.

“ **WHAT IN OBLIVION IS GOING ON HERE?!** ” Vilkas heard Kodlak shout from behind but it was clear to him that in the Dragonborn’s current state, she either didn’t notice or care about the Harbinger’s presence. “I never knew my real parents, Vilkas! I was raised by a loving old Nord warrior and he raised me the best he could! He was a good man, a brilliant teacher with a passionate heart! He.... he-” She panted as her rage subsided giving way to her sorrow. “-he loved me. And he was taken away...” Her voiced stilled unable to speak. Clenching her fists once more she turned on her heels and ran, refusing to let anyone see her cry.

“Isilmé!” Kodlak and Farkas called out as the rest of the Companions awoke from the commotion. The Harbinger crossed his arms in disappointment as he frowned at Vilkas. Even Farkas narrowed his eyes in silent anger. “Aela, keep an eye on her.” Kodlak informed the red-haired huntress who nodded firmly and followed after her Shield-Sister. “Vilkas, in my study. Now!” The young Nord swallowed hard as he entered the room. There was an uneasy tension in the room.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kodlak finally spoke. “Vilkas, I am severely disappointed with you. That little outburst you caused was dishonorable at best. Even you know that was uncalled for.” The Harbinger explained, voiced dripping with reined in fury. The older twin shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of his leader and Farkas. “Look Vil, I understand that you have issues with Elves, but she’s nothing like those Thalmor. She deserves our respect too.” His twin said then growled, “And you don’t know the fucking burdens she has on her shoulders!” Vilkas looked up at his brother in alarm but nodded in shame.

“You’re right, Farkas...”

“You’re damn right I am, Brother.” His twin said in a snarky tone still trying to rein in his disappointment.

“You always forget Vilkas, your twin has a good eye for people and is a good judge of character. Now, tomorrow morning, you will be partnered with Isilmé for patrolling around the hold and assisting those in need.” Kodlak said firmly before adding. “And you WILL apologize to her. Answer her questions if she has any and pray that she forgives you.” Vilkas could only nod. The trio then turned to see Aela return with the Dragonborn, rubbing her back as she brought the Elf to her room. When Aela reemerged from her room she gave Vilkas a firm smack up the side of his head. “Hurt her again with your temper and you’ll get more than a hit on the head.” Was all the flame-haired huntress said before retiring to her room to look after her Shield-Sister.

Aela normally didn’t get attached to many people, but she felt a kinship with Isilmé and after listening to the argument between her Shield-Siblings, she was more than willing to help her. She tucked the young elf into her bed once the poor thing cried herself to sleep then unrolled her own bedroll and closed her eyes. Hopefully, things would smooth over soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translations (excluding already translated or well known Shouts)
> 
> Aav fin Dilon- Join the Dead
> 
> Ney, hi Raan!- never you beast!
> 
> Pahlok- insolence!
> 
> Niid- No.
> 
> Dovah- dragon
> 
> Zu'u giillaan us hi- I submit to you
> 
> Geh. Zu grah pruzah. Zu'u zin zu- Yes. You fought well. I honor you


	9. Vilkas's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regretting what he had said to Isilmé the night before, Vilkas opens up to the Dragonborn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words are just as deadly as a knife. The worst part is, emotion wounds take a very, very long time to mend. Even for the strongest of people.

The next morning after he had awoken and gotten himself dressed in his armor, Vilkas wandered outside to the training grounds just in time to witness the morning rays chasing away the remnants of last night’s fog. As he glanced around the training yard, he was more than confused to find it empty.

Normally, Isilmé would be honing her archery skills at this hour and yet she was nowhere in sight. Then again, after the harsh words he gave her last night; it was possible that the Elf was avoiding him. “Isilmé left for the stables minutes before you woke. You should go there. You can borrow Magnus, too.” He heard Farkas inform him from behind. His twin patted his shoulder then handed him his sword before retiring back to the mead hall to catch up on some sleep.

Once he was certain he had strapped his weapon securely to his waist, Vilkas hastily jogged towards the stables where he found his Shield-Sister saddling her horse. The Dragonborn was in her chainmail cuirass with her long snowy hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. She had a far-off look in her eyes. When he drew too close, Sylph let out an angry snort and stamped her front hoof, alerting Isilmé who turned and fixed her gaze on Vilkas. “Vilkas.” She acknowledged icily sending an unpleasant shiver down the Nord’s spine. He ran his fingers through his black hair and turned to ready Magnus.

Although she did not reject his company, there was an obvious awkwardness between the two warriors. While approaching a farm just on the border of the Pale Hold and Whiterun, the two Companions noticed a man dressed in red and black jester attire lamenting on his broken wagon wheel. There was also a large coffin in the wagon and they noticed a lizard-man with whitish-blue scales, antler-shaped horns on his head and mismatched eyes; one green and the other gold, examining the damage and from what Vilkas saw, it was clear that Isilmé recognized the Argonian. They brought their horses to a halt and the Dragonborn slid off her mount and spoke almost hopefully. “Usaeleí? Is that you?” 

The lizard stiffened and lifted his head then a broad, almost excited, toothy smile appeared on his reptilian face. “Isilmé? Is that really you?!” He hissed with delight as the two friends hugged each other. After a brief exchange of words, the Dragonborn turned towards her Shield-Brother. “Vilkas, this is Usaeleí. He’s one of two friends I had living on Solsthiem. Usaeleí, this is Vilkas. He’s my Shield-Brother.” The Elf said excitedly as the two exchanged a firm handshake. The Argonian then gestured to the cart, awkwardly asking for assistance. While Vilkas and Usaeleí held one side of the wagon up, Isilmé set to work repairing the wheel.

“Have you heard about Khyeena?” The Lizard questioned his long-lost friend. She shook her head while spinning the wheel to make sure it was mobile. 

“No, I haven’t heard from our feline friend in ages. Why?” 

“She’s in with the Thieves Guild in Riften last I saw her. Says she is going to change it to what it used to be. Whatever that means.”

“Once that Khajiti gets an idea, she won’t rest until she’s done it.” The Dragonborn chuckled as fond memories crossed her mind. “As long as she’s safe and happy, that’s all I can ask for. Any luck in Black Marsh for your clue?” Usaeleí heaved a disappointed sigh. He explained that his last clue led him to Skyrim but so far, no luck. After fixing the wagon, the Companions waved farewell as they watched the Argonian and the strange jester ride off. When Vilkas commented on the odd pair, he earned a hearty chuckle from her and they continue their patrol. 

After nearly four hours of riding around Whiterun’s massive lands, Vilkas and Isilmé decided to take a break beside the river that flowed down from Riverwood. While their steeds drank, the warriors sat upon some large rocks in silence. Searching through her satchel, Isilmé produced two fresh green apples and tossed one to Vilkas who caught it with one hand. The Nord exhaled a long breath, twirling the fruit between his palms.  
“Look, um... about last night-”

“Don’t worry about it, Vil. I’m sorry for using the Voice against you.” The Dragonborn cut him off and apologized. To him! First! “Well, to be fair, I DID deserve it. However, I’m curious as to how you can Shout. I mean, all races of Elves are literally incapable of using the Voice.” Vilkas commented stealing a glance at her. “Are the rumors about you being Dragonborn true?” When Isilmé refused to answer, the older twin persisted.“Care to enlighten me?”

“Care to enlighten me on your cruel behavior towards me?” She countered harshly before sighing at the sight of him cringing. Biting her lip, she shrugged her delicate shoulders in defeat and nodded. She glanced at him expecting him to answer her question in turn.  
“Aye, I suppose it’s only fair that I explain myself too.” Vilkas admitted as he turned his gaze skyward watching a hawk soar above them. His Shield-Sister waited patiently for him to proceed while keeping a watchful eye on their horses. “Did Farkas ever tell you how he and I came to be with the Companions?” He finally asked.

“He mentioned that you two were raised by your father. Jergen.... I think that was his name.” The Dragonborn replied then narrowed her eyes when Vilkas rolled his icy eyes, irritation present. They soften only slightly. “Well, my twin is not entirely wrong,” He admitted then continued, “but the truth is we were adopted by Jergen when necromancers killed our parents and kidnapped us for their experiments. Jergen rescued us before they could even attempt their gods damn experiments.”

The Dragonborn shuddered in disgust as memories of Meridia’s temple flashed before her eyes. All the undead, defiled corpses and tortured souls forced to do someone’s biding. The very thought of it made her skin crawl. The Companion turned his gaze down to stare at the river, his eyes reflecting the water like a mirror. “So, umm... what happened to Jergen?” He heard her ask in a soft tone and he let out an angry, wolf-like growl, clenching his fists so tightly they turned white.

“He left... He left to fight in the Great War against the damn High Elves and he never came back!” Vilkas bared his teeth bitterly and his blue eyes briefly bled into an amber color. He picked up a fist-sized stone. “Whether he was our father or not, I don’t give a damn!” The Nord then chucked the rock viciously in to the water below, “The bastard left us and never came back...” He closed his tear-filled eyes tightly, refusing to let even one escape. “Vilkas...” The young Elf reached out her hand and gently wrapped it around his fist. Through the touch, he could feel that she understood his anger. “I don’t think you truly hate Jergen for leaving...” She began, choosing her words with care; even when the warrior turned his gaze away from her, she continued, “... You’re angry that you never got to say farewell to him properly.”

At first, the warrior refused to even look into those luminous purple eyes of her, but the he didn’t get the choice when the Dragonborn cupped his stubble cheek and turn his head to face her. She saw the usually proud, stubborn and fearless Nord biting his lip. She gave him a sympathetic smile. “For what it’s worth, Shield-Brother,” she smiled as she pulled Vilkas into a tight, comforting embrace, “I think Jergen would be proud of how much both you and Farkas have grown. Regardless if he was your father or not.” Awkwardly, Vilkas hugged her back earning a giggle from her. 

“You never hugged a woman before, have you Vilkas?”

“Have you tried giving a hug to Aela?” She shook her head.

“I recommend you don’t if you value your life.”

The two warriors laughed full-heartedly then enjoyed the calmness of the afternoon beside the river. Suddenly, their horses bolted in fear, neighing frantically, leaving their riders in the dust. _Something’s not right,_ Vilkas thought as he sniffed the air when a strange, sickly sweet scent wafted under his nose. “You smell something with that werewolf nose of yours, Vilkas?” Isilmé questioned in a whisper only he could hear. When he drew his sword, she did the same with Dawnbreaker. “Vampires... at the least a dozen are nearby.” He warned. “A coven? In broad daylight?” The Dragonborn asked as the two stood back to back. 

Vilkas wagered that they were most likely desperate for food as the vampires suddenly emerged from the shadows in a large circle around them. They had pale skin that resembled white marble and their glowing red eyes locked on to the Companions as they circled their prey hungrily. Their elongated canines protruded from their lips; feral, hungry snarls erupted from their throats and their hands were glowing blood-red: blood draining magic. He knew he would be fine against vampirism, a perk from being a lycanthrope, but his Shield-Sister wouldn’t.

With a mighty roar from the leader, the vile creatures swarmed upon the warriors in a feeding frenzy. Skilled as the warriors were, the sheer numbers of the vampires overwhelmed Isilmé and Vilkas. Within moments, they soon found themselves pinned on the ground, the horde clawing and biting at whatever flesh they could latch on to. Vilkas let out a terrifying snarl as his eyes flashed amber. His beast-blood granting him more strength, the Nord tore through his assailants with ease.

“ISILMÉ!!!” He cried out as he heard his Shield-Sister cry out in such a way, it made his blood run cold.

The Dragonborn yelled and screamed as the monsters' fangs bit through her exposed arms and neck. She could feel her blood leaving her body even as she attempted to fend of the creatures. _Dawnbreaker_ was knocked out of her hand by the leader as he sank his fangs in to her exposed throat. _I don’t want to die.... I. Don’t. Want. To. DIE!!!_ Her thoughts roared as her vison darkened.

“ISILMÉ!” She heard the Companion scream as he frantically made his way towards her, his heart leaping into his throat as her voice suddenly went silent. Shor’s bones... He thought with dread, was she even alive? Or worse. Did the vile creatures turn her?

Suddenly he, along with the vampires found themselves being propelled off the Elf by some sort of explosive ward-like magic. Grunting from the impact in the dirt, Vilkas clutched his chest. He winced at the discovery of a couple cracked ribs but thank Talos nothing was severely broken. He shook his head redirecting his focus to the sight before him. The Dragonborn had risen to her feet, albeit a bit weakly however she looked completely different. In her place was a creature unlike anything the lycanthrope had ever seen. She looked like a wolf with antlers on top of her head and a serpentine tail. Spikes ran down her back and tail. Long sabre like fangs gleamed past her wolfish muzzle. What ever creature she was, the lycanthrope was left in awe.

Isilmé’s body was covered in thick, white feather like scales with strange icy blue markings that seemed to faintly glow against her snowy form. A blinding light seemed to radiate from her as well. Her eyes were no longer their usual luminous and bright purple color. Instead, they were now an array of colors that shamed all the auroras he had seen during some nights. Gods above, she looked just as deadly as she was beautiful. Her gaze was not on him, though. Her eyes were locked firmly on the blood-sucking fiends before her. When she spoke, her voice was not exactly her own. 

“ **Come at me, you wild beasts!** ” She roared before sprinting down river, away from Vilkas. Away from civilians. Clearly enticed by the thrill of the hunt, the vampires abandoned the Nord and charged after the still bleeding Elf. Vilkas tried to stand, to attempt pursuit but his wounded body protested and refused to obey him. Dammit! She can’t handle them on her own! He winced, holding his side. He then heard the familiar sound of horse hooves galloping at full speed towards him. Magnus and Sylph had apparently returned to Whiterun to get help because astride them were, Aela, Farkas and astride Sylph was... Kodlak?! 

After debriefing his Harbinger and fellow Companions about the attack and Isilmé leading the vampires away, Kodlak furrowed his brow in frustration. “You mean to tell me you let her leave alone?!” Aela snapped in disbelief before Farkas reprimanded her.

“Easy, Aela. I doubt he would WILLINGLY allow her to do something so reckless or have you forgotten; he’s wounded.” The younger twin growled and hopped off his horse to tend to his brother’s injuries. 

“Enough!” Boomed the Harbinger.

The three young warriors turned towards Kodlak as he held Sylph by the bridle. “We are wasting enough time as it is. We have a wounded Shield-Sister who is probably bleeding to death AND she is currently being pursued by a coven of starved vampires. We need to find her and swiftly!” The Harbinger stated matter-of-factly. The warriors nodded in agreement. 

“What’s the plan Mast- OW! Farkas!” Vilkas hissed as his twin tightened the bandages on his wounds. The old man sighed patiently. Kodlak thought for a brief moment, his eyes glancing at the three warriors before he came to a decision. “Vilkas and I will return to Jorrvaskr. No, Vilkas. You are in no condition to argue let alone fight. Aela and Farkas will pursue our Sister. Bring her home safely. Yes, Aela, you two may use the blood this once but you CANNOT be seen. Understood?” The Nord woman nodded before disappearing with Farkas down the river while the Harbinger helped Vilkas home.

How the young Elven woman managed to defeat the remaining blood-fiends was beyond her as she limped further up an incline and into the cave she had discovered. Blood continued to seep from her wounds in a slow pumping rhythm. Unsure if it was from exhaustion or blood loss, perhaps both; in her semi-consciousness, Isilmé found herself before a strange and oddly familiar statue portraying a tall, lean muscled figure whose face was concealed by an antlered deer mask. The figure depicted a male hunter who held spears in each of his hands and glued to his side were two massive and fierce looking wolf-like creatures staring at some invisible prey in the distance. 

At the base of the statue were candles of various sizes that looked like that they had not been used for quite some time. No doubt, this was a shrine of some sort but the Dragonborn visibly began shaking. Her vision fading into black, Isilmé’s knees buckled and she collapsed unto a pile of soft moss. She hardly noticed the candles flickering to life emitting an eerie amber glow, nor did she even sense the presence of a figure emerging from the dancing shadows. The candlelight illuminated his sun-kissed, flawlessly chiseled body. His black hair was like a thick mane behind his back. Through his deer mask, Hircine’s glowing amber eyes were fixated on the limp body before his shrine and the Daedric Prince of the Hunt, Father of Man-Beasts, strolled over to her silently with the predatory grace of a sabre cat stalking a rabbit and gently prodded her with the spear in his hand. 


	10. Unexpected Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a race against time to find Isilmé, luckily an unexpected helper arrives.

Farkas let out an urgent bark as he turned his head towards the reddish-brown werewolf trotting over to him. Aela sniffed the air catching the scent of their fellow Companion and nodded curtly. Isilmé definitely was here and clearly not in Whiterun Hold anymore. Aela looked further down the river, her wolf ears pricked forward. The black werewolf beside her glance in her direction, his piercing blue eyes questioning with worry. Was she running towards Riften or Windhelm? Aela wondered only to notice her Shield-Brother trotting up a hidden incline beside the waterfall that faced the crossroads between the Holds of Eastmarch and the Rift. Unsure what Farkas was doing, the she-wolf barked at him to return but he refused to listen to her. He howled at Aela earnestly. Did the oaf actually find her? Then again, Farkas always managed to surprise the Huntress in some way and when she caught up to him, they found a cave nestled behind thick greenery a little further up.

The Daedric Prince knelt down beside the petite woman and brushed aside a lock of her silvery white hair away from her face with a clawed hand. Amber orbs widen in recognition. _So, you’ve returned young cub_. A soft smile graced the Hunter’s rugged face before it twisted in slight rage upon seeing her wounds and markings. “We will speak again one day,” Hircine spoke, a voice so smooth and rich like honey it would make any normal mortal female tremble, “But first, I must tend to your wounds.” He began to lift his mask ever so slightly and he exhaled a strange blue mist that began wrapping around Isilmé’s wounds. The mist vanished leaving no trace that she had ever been injured.

Nodding at his work, Hircine’s wolf-like ears flicked upward to the sound of crunching leaves and the Daedra pulled his mask down before scooping up the unconscious Elf in to his strong arms. Just as he turned around, two werewolves skid to a halt before him. When the black one snarled defensively, the red one all but reprimanded her companion. He watched unfazed as the two werewolves reverted to their human forms. Hircine smirked inwardly noting that they reverted without ruining their clothes. Farkas reached for his greatsword strapped to his back when the Father of Man-Beasts let loose a warning snarl. 

“Stay your weapon, Pup! Isilmé is in no danger.” The Prince growled slightly irritated. Aela gave her master a curious look after urging Farkas to stand down. Green eyes clashed with amber as she glanced from her unconscious Shield-Sister to the Daedra.

“You speak as though you know our Sister. How?” The Huntress asked only to frown when Hircine chuckled in amusement. He might as well indulge one of his followers a bit. “Let’s just say, I hold a key to her past.” He answered. The two Companions glanced at each other, the Huntress shrugging in confusion while her Shield-Brother had a thoughtful look in his stoic gaze. The warriors were pulled from their thoughts when their master spoke once more. “Now, I’ve healed her wounds and cured her of vampirism. However, I strongly advise you to return home so she may rest.” 

Hircine carefully passed Isilmé to Farkas who held the Dragonborn close to him never taking his eyes off the Daedra. Without a word of warning, Hircine snapped his fingers and the Companions let out startled cries when they were enveloped in a bright purple light. 

“Dammit! What the fuck did he do to us?!” Farkas growled and he held Isilmé a little tighter as if to reassure himself that his Shield-Sister was still in his arms. Once their vision adjusted and cleared, Aela clicked her tongue in disbelief. They found themselves behind Whiterun stables. “I think he may have teleported us.” The Huntress admitted. Neither of the warriors were mages, however they weren’t oblivious to the forms of magic. Even Daedric. Snapping back to reality, Farkas felt the Dragonborn whimper faintly and could feel her shivering in his arms. 

“Let’s get her back to Jorrvaskr. She’s already lost a lot of blood and she is cold as ice.”  
Aela couldn’t help but agree more with her Shield-Brother. Once safely inside the mead hall, Farkas followed Kodlak to his quarters where Isilmé would be staying so they could monitor her recovery. They left the room as Tilma and Aela entered to change the poor girl into something more comfortable. While the two women were busy, Farkas debriefed Kodlak on what Vilkas had seen during the ambush and on who he and Aela encountered upon finding Isilmé. “I’m telling you,” the young Nord insisted as the Harbinger stroked his beard, “Hircine seemed to imply that he knew ‘Sil personally and from what Vilkas said about her transforming in to some strange beast, I’m convinced that the Prince of the Hunt may be telling the truth!” 

“How do you reckon, boy?”

“Hircine said he ‘held a key to her past’.” 

Raising a brow, Kodlak rested his hand on his chin deep in thought as he digested the information thoroughly. A key to her past? The old Companion pondered and furrowed his brow intently. Then again... Isilmé admitted she doesn’t have any knowledge of her biological family or what kind of elf she is. Only that she knows she IS an Elf... He glanced upwards at Farkas who’s eyes were glazed with concern. “I am sure it is nothing, Farkas. For now, tend to your twin before he reopens his wounds again.” Kodlak chuckled. The brawny Companion nodded and left the room to look after his brother.

Kodlak turned to the doors of his bed chamber as Tilma exited the room with Aela in tow, carrying the Dragonborn’s bloodied chainmail. Once the women were out of sight, the old Nord quietly walked in feeling his heart sink at the sight of Isilmé. Cold sweat dripped from her brow as she tossed and turned in her sleep. Nightmares of the vampires had her groaning in fear. Kodlak quickly filled a brass bowl with cold water and plopped a linen rag into it. “Be at ease little one,” He whispered huskily and proceeded to wipe the now damp towel over her brow. Her fit quieted as the cold towel felt good against her feverish skin. 

Four days had gone by and Isilmé finally stirred and began to awaken from her slumber. “Isilmé?” She heard the deep voice of the Harbinger call out. She opened her eyes and turned her head to the source. “Thank the Nine Divines! You’re finally awake!” Kodlak beamed joyously. The Dragonborn felt disoriented but nothing more. At first, she did not recognize her surroundings however upon seeing Kodlak and the other members of the Companions’ inner circle popped their heads into the room. 

“Wha- Where...! Vilkas! Is Vilkas alright?!” The pale Elf jolted upright then quickly regretted the action as her body protested to the sudden movement. “Aye. I’m fine ‘Sil.” Confirmed Vilkas who waved his hand at her nonchalantly, his war-painted eyes glancing gratefully at her. “Thanks to you. Also, Vilkas has Dawnbreaker in his quarters” His large twin added appreciatively and the Dragonborn exhaled a relieved sigh.

Clearing his throat, Kodlak finally spoke. “Alright, everyone,” He began, ushering the others out of his quarters, “Let her rest a bit more and have Tilma prepare a grand supper.” Once the rabble had left and the Harbinger was certain that no one was listening, the old Nord turned his attention to Isilmé. The young woman was combing her fingers through her silvery hair to untangle it.

Noticing his suddenly stern gaze, the Elf gave him a curious look. As if reading the woman’s mind, Kodlak pulled a chair up to the side of the bed and sat down crossing his arms.  
“Isilmé... Is there any reason for the Daedric Lord, Hircine, to be familiar with you?”

She raised a brow in surprise. Me? Familiar to Hircine? She thought and she closed her eyes. After contemplating the Harbinger’s question, Isilmé shook her head. “I honestly don’t know. I mean, I met Meridia on my first solo mission but...” She trailed off then asked him what brought the question. Kodlak stroked his beard once more. “Farkas and Aela found you unconscious before a shrine of Hircine. Along with the Daedric Prince of the Hunt himself. He said he held a key to your past but refused to say much more.” The old warrior explained, withholding Vilkas's tidbit about her transforming. Still, the Dragonborn gave him a confused stare.

A memory flashed before her eyes. Isilmé saw an infant crying loudly, followed by an oddly familiar male voice. But before she could even process the information, she hissed as her head began to throb painfully. Kodlak rose from his chair quickly as the pale Elf clutched her head. “Are you alright, lass?” He questioned with his silver eyes while rubbing her back. “Talos perserve me... that hurt.” She answered as the ache faded and she nodded her head reassuringly. Whatever the Master of the Hunt knew about the Dragonborn, Isilmé knew not nor would Hircine shed any light on the mystery. For now, the fact that the newest member of the Companions was alive and well was good enough for the Harbinger.

“I assume you must be starving.” Kodlak smirked upon hearing the Dragonborn’s stomach growl hungrily. “Come. Our family is waiting.” Isilmé’s pretty purple eyes lit up and she practically leapt out of the bed earning yet another hearty chuckle from the Harbinger. Warm mead and freshly cooked meat never tasted so good to the Elf as she, along with her family of warriors immersed themselves in the glorious feast. Even Skjor smiled at Isilmé’s recovery. Jorrvaskr that night was loud and full of mirth. And so much mead. She swore they had to buy a few from Honningbrew estate a little way off from Whiterun's stone walls. Still, even as she ate, the Dragonborn continued to wonder how or for that matter why, a Daedric Prince knew her. Whatever the reason, be it good or ill, Isilmé was determined to enjoy the night with merriment and worry about the little details later.


	11. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally recovered, Isilmé takes a breather from the grand feast to find she is not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hircine makes another debut.

Once the festivities died down and everyone had gone to bed, Isilmé decided to get some fresh air in the empty marketplace. White cloak draped loosely over her shoulders, Isilmé climbed down the stairs leading to the Wind District, briefly admiring the Gildergleam tree as its pink blossoms danced in the faint midnight breeze. The sweet scent of the flowers bringing waves of tranquility over her mind, body and soul.

Suddenly, she realized that she wasn’t as alone as she had previously thought. Alone figure sat along one of the benches just underneath the tree. Eyes closed, he seemed to be meditating, or maybe just listening to the night noises; the sound of an owl could be heard in the distance along with the howling of wolves. Curious, she approached him as though she was drawn to him to somehow. He looked familiar...

Suddenly sensing that he was being watched, Hircine lowered his gaze to stare at the young elf. “You can join me if you’d like Cub,” The tall man said as he shifted slightly to a more comfortable position, “I do not bite.” Lost in his golden eyes, Isilmé remained rooted in her spot. He not only looked familiar, but he sounded familiar as well. “I’m sorry it this sounds strange but have we met?” The petite elf asked. The man quirked his brow in amusement and she quickly added, “It’s just I’ve never seen you in town before.” Again, the strange Nord just chuckled. 

“Well, I don’t usually come in to the cities. Too crowding for me.” The sun-kissed man sighed contently as the elf nervously sat beside him. “You can call me Hunter.”

“Hunter?”

“Is that a funny name to you?”

“Oh. No, no it’s a fine name. Fitting really,” She replied quickly. “I’m Isilmé.” His gold eyes studied her, taking in her features. By Anu, she looked nearly identical her mother save for her eyes. The two sat in peaceful silence staring at the twin moons. Hircine grinned as he watched the twin moons above draw ever close into an eclipse. 

“Something in the heavens catch your interest?” Asked the elf as she followed his gaze. “The moons?”

“Indeed. A promise of good omens, don’t you agree?” The Huntsman questioned as he gestured to the large moon that was Masser as it seemed to envelope its small companion; Secunda. The elf nodded then let out a soft giggle herself. She brushed a lock of hair from her face and noticed that Hunter had a confused look in his eyes. “My grandfather used to tell me that when Masser completely covered Secunda and turned crimson, it was because Secunda was granting Masser power to protect it from harm.” She explained and closed her eyes as the fond memory flooded her vision.

_“Grandfather? Why is Masser red? Is it hurt?” The little pale elf child asked with worry as she looked up at the night sky from her window. The winds of Windhelm were oddly calm and gentle this night and the starry sky was as clear as crystal. Old Gridbran Wolf-Blade lifted the tiny bundle in his arms and stared at the crimson Masser. “No, my little cub.” He rumbled softly running his hand over Isilmé’s pointed ear eliciting a playful giggle from the elf child. He adjusted her in his arms and he pointed at the red moon ahead encouraging her to listen to his tale._

_“Long ago, Masser never turned red nor did he have Secunda. The great God of Time, Akatosh, watched as the moon danced alone over the world and could sense Masser’s loneliness. So, he and his pantheon decided to give Masser a companion that came to be Secunda. The two were perfect for each other, endlessly dancing until a falling star threatened all of Nirn.” He explained as his old gray eyes smiled at the tiny elf’s wide eye expression and chuckled when she gasped through the tale. He continued, “Secunda embraced Masser and in doing so, imbued the larger moon with incredible power that allowed him to shield not only his companion from the falling star but all of Nirn. Now the two embrace more often, shielding everyone from harm and strengthening their love."_

“He must have been quite the parent figure.” Hircine smiled almost sadly while unbeknownst to the Dragonborn, ran his fingers through her hair lovingly. “He was the only family I knew at the t-”

Thunder cracked in the distance and Dragonborn’s heart rate spiked with it. Hunter quirked a brow then chuckled as the two felt the downpour of rain upon them. Shaking his head to hide his amusement of the elf dancing in the rain like a child, the Huntsman crossed his arms. “Come along, Cub. You should go back to Jorrvaskr and rest. I don’t want you to catch your death of cold after just recovering from a vampire attack.” She froze. Slowly, very slowly, Isilmé turned towards him. “How do you know-” She started to question but suddenly felt extremely tired. She barely noticed Hunter’s palms were glowing with a faint gold hue and gold colored dust drizzled over her. She swayed slightly, her heavy-lidded eyes closed and she staggered forward into the Daedric Prince’s arms.

Carrying her as though she were a small child, Hircine effortlessly teleported into the Whelps’ bed chambers of Jorrvaskr and tucked the pale Elf under the warm fur blankets. “All in time, Cub. We will speak again...,” He said before fading into the darkness, “Head for the Shrine of Hircine hidden beside the waterfall. You’ll know it when you see it.”

Isilmé jolted from her slumber a few hours later dazed and confused. She rose from the bed and dressed in her chainmail and tied her hair back in a braid. She strapped her swords to her hip then proceeded to the mead hall for breakfast. “You’re up unusually early, ‘Sil. Is everything alright?” She turned around to see Kodlak enjoying a small breakfast alone in the empty room. “As are you, Harbinger.” The Dragonborn stated and sat down beside him and reached for a shiny green apple.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost...” 

“I may as well have. I think...” She began before shaking her head thinking she was probably going mad.

“You think what?” The old man prompted gently.

The pale Elf inhaled sharply then glanced around as though making sure no one else but she and the Harbinger were in the room. “I think I saw an aspect of Hircine...” Kodlak’s eyes widen in apparent alarm and he coughed slightly on his drink. “Are you certain?” He asked her in a hushed tone. She took a bite out of the apple, enjoying its sweet taste. Isilmé then glanced at her mentor. “Aye and he wants to speak to me at the Shrine that Aela and Farkas found me at after the vampires attacked Vilkas and I.” She answered and began filling her knapsack with some apples, a few loaves of bread and some salted deer jerky. 

“I advise against dealing with the Daedra, Dragonborn. It is not wise to consort with their kind.” Kodlak cautioned only to be caught off-guard by her carefree smile.

“I am certain I will be fine. Perhaps I can help speed along your search for a cure.” She said gently.

She slung her pack over her shoulder and left the building for the stables. She saddled Sylph and rode off. It was a little after sunrise when she finally found the alcove beside the waterfall. The white mare nickered worriedly towards her mistress as she tied her to a tree. “I’ll be alright, Sylph. I promise.” The pale Elf insisted as she ran her palm gently over the mare’s muzzle. She moved away from the horse and strolled in to the cave towards the statue to find the candles all alight, emitting their eerie golden glow.

“Alright, I’m here Hunter. Or should I call you ‘ _Hircine_ ’ instead?” She called out listening to her voice echo in the chamber. 

The candles’ light flickered and emerging from the shadows was the figure she come to know as Hunter. However, he was different from before. His skin was a darker tan, like someone who had stayed out too long in the sun’s warmth. His nails were black and claw-like. His hair was longer, pulled in a loose ponytail and it trailed behind him as if to mimic a wolf’s tail. His ears were wolf-like, perked up on alert and atop his hooded head, a splendid rack of antlers. His eyes were golden orbs under his mask but Isilmé swore she saw a glimpse of his long canines.

“You have some explaining to do, Father of Manbeasts...” She stated bravely. 

“Indeed, I do, Cub. Much more than that,” Hircine confirmed, “However the tale is long and we do not have the time. I will tell you what you need to know for now and in return I will give the final clue for the cure Kodlak seeks.”

“Very well. I am listening. BUT! No tricks. No lies.” Isilmé warned as she took a seat in the soft moss under her.

The Huntsman sat across from her, conjuring a roaring fire between them. Once settled, the Daedric Prince let out a low hum. The pale Elf assumed he was contemplating on where to begin then found his gaze locked on hers. “Now, the only way for you to fully understand what I am about to tell you, is to start at the beginning,” Hircine began, waving his clawed hand over the flames and Isilmé swore she saw figures appearing within the fire. “Bear in mind, that these revelations will be a shock to you. But I swear that they are the truth.” She nodded firmly.

The fire crackled once more as the Daedric Lord told his tale. “You are a descendant of the Ancient Snow Elves. Yes, you are a Falmer, or more specifically what they looked like long before the enslavement of the Dwarves when the ancient Nords drove them underground. Over time with the Dwarves, the Falmer transformed them into the blind goblin looking monstrosities they are commonly known as today due to consuming some sort of toxin.” He glanced at the young Elf woman who swallowed hard. It was to be expected. Still, Hircine continued, “Your mother, along with a small band of other Snow Elves, managed to find sanctuary in a realm where time seemed to stand still. They lived there in peace for a time, but that tranquility would not last long.”

“What do you mean?” Questioned the Dragonborn.

The firewood popped and cracked ominously revealing a dreadful scene. One of bloodshed and death. “The day after your birth, the Falmer swarmed the refuge, slaughtering all who lived there.” The Daedra answered solemnly and Isilmé’s eyes widen in disbelief. Hircine waited to continue, only glancing upward when Sylph entered the cave cautiously and nudged her mistress. Isilmé hugged the mare’s snout gently for reassurance. She nodded for Hircine to continue. The fire flickered once more and showed a woman embracing a man tightly and handing him a small bundle before turning to face the oncoming threat. The man looked distraught but held the bundle close to him and made a mad dash. “Your mother remained to give your father the time to escape with you in his arms. He ran. And ran with the Falmer on his tail. He then found refuge here in this Shrine.” The Huntsman explained as he gestured all around him.

“No disrespect but,” Isilmé questioned as she patted Sylph’s cheek, “why here of all places?”

“Because your father was one of my followers and he believed you would be safe here.” The Daedric Prince answered a little too quickly. Not a complete lie. Hircine chuckled to himself in amusement. She smiled weakly and nodded. “Truly?” She questioned tilting her head to the side returning her gaze back to the fire. “So, what happened to him? My father?” The Huntsman heaved a sad sigh. Isilmé didn’t even think Daedra ever cared for mortals. Well with the exception of Meridia and the few other Princes on the very short list. I guess not all of them are bad... She thought to herself. 

Hircine bit his lower lip as he closed his eyes, trying to find the right words to say. She had to ask the hard question and he could not answer. “Your father disappeared... and went on to Aetherius with your mother and asked I look after you.” He replied as he waved his hand over the flames, snuffing the blaze out instantly. Isilmé quirked a furrowed her brow in confusion. She lifted her head from the smoldering pit and into the Huntsman’s eyes. So many questions swirled through her mind and she had a difficult time searching for her voice.

“I thought upon death ALL werebeasts would end up in your Hunting Grounds” She pointed out.

“That is not entirely true,” Hircine said gruffly waving his hand dismissively, “Most of my followers choose to come to the Hunting Ground. They can come and go as they please. Some I bring there as punishment and they are usually the prey. However, those who receive my gift of beastblood through a different source, like say, a cult for example? That blood is diluted terribly and curses those who take it to be bound to me. I do not appreciate that. I prefer to give my gifts directly.”

“So, if my father had the blood...” She started to say as she rubbed her shoulder, “Does that mean that I’m-”

“Yes,” The Daedra stated firmly, “You have the blood and you can actually transform. In fact you did.” When she was about to question what he meant, he beat her to the answer. “When you and Vilkas were attacked, you transformed into a beast though only briefly. It was instinctual. Don’t worry you have good teachers who can help you grasp it better without any hinderance.” Hircine glanced at the entrance of the cave and shook his head. How time seemed to pass so swiftly. “However, I believe it is time for you to return home. The sun has begun to descend.”

 _Home..._ She thought. Isilmé nodded and turned her head towards Sylph and clicked her tongue. The mare quickly rose to her feet and snorted, eager to leave. Just as she mounted the mare, she remembered something. “Wait- What about the clue you promised to give me?” She demanded feeling stupid for nearly forgetting. The Daedric Prince only smirked and disappeared into the shadows. “I already gave it to you Cub...” His voice echoed around her. Sylph snapped at the breeze that whisked passed them. _Gah! Typical for Daedra to speak in riddles.._. The Dragonborn huffed indignantly. Then something clicked as she went through the conversation the two had and she nearly fell out of her saddle.She spurred her horse and they made a beeline for Whiterun, the twin moons rising high in the sky projecting their near fullness on this cloudless night. 

After putting Sylph in her stall and freeing her from her tack, Isilmé sprinted through the Plains Districts up to the Wind District and nearly collided with Skjor and Aela upon returning to Jorrvaskr. “Whoa, there Sister, where’s the fire?” Aela questioned as Skjor helped her up. “Sorry! Can’t talk. Need to find Kodlak! I’ll talk to you two about it tomorrow!” The Dragonborn stammered then disappeared down to the bed chambers. Aela and Skjor exchanged confused glances but shrugged and left the building. It was time for their usual hunt. Hunting was always best done at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You probably already guessed it but yes, Isilmé is Hircine's biological child. Sadly, our poor girl isn't aware of this info. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you want a back story involving how Isilmé's mother and Hircine met and such.


	12. First Transformation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After relaying what she learned from Hircine to Kodlak, Isilmé continues to wonder more and more about herself until she is approached by Skjor and Aela.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> May rewrite this chapter

After exchanging the information to Kodlak the night before, Isilmé woke up just before sunrise then wandered to the training yard with a practice bow and began firing practice arrows at some of the targets. The morning sun felt good on her skin and the scent of morning dew was endearing. After a couple hours of training, the Snow Elf took a seat on the patio chair and took an apple from the bowl on the small table beside her and took a bite.

“Ah, there you are.” 

Her eyes shot upwards. She smiled at Skjor and gestured to the free seat. “I’m sorry for nearly trampling you and Aela last night. I was in a hurry.” She explained.

“That’s alright. I was hoping to find you.”

“You were looking for me?”

“Yes. Aela and I have something special planned this time. But it’s not for everyone to hear.” Skjor began as he dusted his shoulder pad. Isilmé tilted her head curiously to one side. “I’m guessing it has something to do with my blood, right?” She whispered softly. He smirked and nodded his head, his eyes shimmering proudly. _Sharp as ever_... He thought to himself. The two looked up as Aela strolled out to the yard and sat beside Skjor, grumbling about her hair being uncooperative. Isilmé chuckled and offered to braid the Huntress’ fiery locks to which to the Dragonborn’s surprise, she agreed. While she tamed and braided Aela’s flame colored mane, the Snow Elf told them about yesterday’s events. To say the two lycanthropes were stunned was an understatement.

“You actually spoke with Him?!” 

“Damn... I owe Farkas twenty gold coins. He was right.” Aela groaned as her Shield-Sister finished her work. 

“Getting back on target, you two mentioned something about helping me with this ‘personal’ matter?” Isilmé prompted. The two Nords nodded firmly, yet they remained silent. They turned to the sound of activity and chatter in the mead hall. “We’ll talk more later. Meet us back here tonight.” Skjor ordered as he and Aela wandered off. She then heard Eourland call her from the Skyforge. She snatched another apple and hurried towards to the old smith. She made a surprised gasp at the sight. “Is that?” She asked circling the new armor on display. The smith nodded. 

“Care to try it on?”

“Can I?”

“Tis your armor, Lass.”

Eorlund had her step forward and he helped her into her armor. The silvery chest piece had two dragons etched on the sides, their necks craning, noses almost touching and their horns seemed to cup her small bosom nicely. Her greaves were made from the opal colored scales she had brought him and they were surprisingly comfortable. The gauntlets were interesting indeed. They were sharpened to look like claws, made from sharpened steel and she found herself admiring the deadly attribute. Her boots were made of thick leather and the stitching was expertly crafted.

“What do you think?” The old Nord asked gruffly.

“I love it! It’s perfect and light weight too! I adore the gauntlets.” Isilmé appraised as she moved around. The armor felt like it was made of leather instead of steel. She clenched her armored hand into a fist and nodded at its flexibility. She turned to face the Skyforge master and saw him puffing his chest with pride. “I had Farengar enchant it to make it durable, light weight and highly resistant to most forms of elemental magic.” He explained then gestured to a small satchel of dragon scales and teeth. “I even have enough to make a set of chainmail for my next project.” 

“Thank you, Eorlund. It’s amazing.” The Snow Elf said resting a fist to her heart earning a raised brow from Eorlund. She looked at him confused. “Did I say or do something wrong or disrespectful?” He shook his head laughing full-heartedly. He then returned the gesture smiling. She grinned and then asked if he could help her out of the armor.

Still having some time to kill, Isilmé decided to just relax and wander around the Plains District. She conversed with Eorlund’s wife, Fralia at the jewelry stand and helped chop firewood for the Bannered Mare, earning some coin. She was about to turn and head back to the Wind District when she felt someone trying to snag her newly acquired coin purse. She gripped the furry wrist. Fur? She turned to face the thief and her eyes widen in utter surprise.

“Khyeena?!” 

Standing before her was a lithe cat woman. A Khajiiti woman who was grinning as she pulled her hood back. “This one hoped you’d remember her.” The Cat purred in her Alik’rian accent. Her coat was a smoky coal black color save for a silvery white crescent moon on her forehead and long raven colored hair. Her green-blue eyes glitter excitedly before adding, “Though I wish it was under better circumstances. Can we talk somewhere private?” Isilmé nodded and gestured to Jorrvaskr. Once inside, the Snow Elf was relieved to find the mead hall empty and she gestured to a table in the far corner. The two sat down in the shadows when another woman, suddenly appeared. She was Dark Elf with ashen gray skin but her eyes were a dark purple color with a red tinge on the edges. She was wearing the same full leather armor as Khyeena and now that Isilmé thought about it, she noticed a unique symbol stitched in the armors’ shoulder blades. A crossed key and dagger? She asked herself.  
She was pulled from her thoughts when the Dunmer woman looked at her suspiciously.

“Are you sure we can trust her, Khyeena?” The Dunmer questioned in a bell like voice. “Karliah, this one has known Isilmé for many years. She can be trusted and she can read Gallus’ journal. Besides, Mercer does not know her unlike Enthir.” Khyeena sighed as she rummaged through her satchel. She then handed Isilmé a leather-bound journal with what looked like a raven on the cover along with a blank journal. “What is thi-” The Dragonborn started to question but stopped when the Cat shushed her. 

“We need this journal translated. This one’s companion believes it to be an important clue, however neither of us can read Ancient Falmer, like you can. This one remembers you reading their language on Solsthiem.” Khyeena explained then grinned, “This one also heard that you are the last Dragonbo-” Isilmé glared at her friend and quickly covered her mouth. “I don’t know where or how you found that out, Khyeena,” The Dragonborn warned, “But I would appreciate it if you kept that knowledge to yourself.”   
The Khajiit removed Isilmé’s hand from her muzzle and waved her hand dismissively.

“This one will keep quiet. Can you translate the journal so we can be on our way?”

Huffing slightly, Isilmé opened the journals and began transcribing the translation. Her eyes narrowed at what she read. The desecration of the Twilight what- Khyeena, what have you gotten yourself into this time? After about a half hour, Isilmé finished translating the journal and handed it back to her friend. That was when she saw it. A scar under the Cats chin. “Khyeena... what happened to your throat? Who did this?” She asked in horror as said Cat folded her ears back and rubbed the scar as though it burned her.

“A very bad man. This one’s former Guildmaster, Mercer Frey, slit this one’s throat for knowing too much. Thankfully, this one was lucky Karliah healed her.” Khyeena said gesturing to the Dunmer who nodded curtly. “Do you need help dealing with him?” The Dragonborn asked worriedly. Khyeena shook her head then smiled as she twirled a lock of hair between her clawed fingers. “Thank you, but this one, along with the Thieves Guild must face this on our own. We must return to Riften with this information. And swiftly deal with the snake.” The Khajiiti woman insisted as she twitched her tail. Just before the two thieves left the building, Khyeena turned her head to glance back at Isilmé. “If you are ever in Riften, this one hopes you will come and visit. Just look for a red-headed Nord called Brynyolf.” Khyeena then winked at her friend.   
And just like that, the two were gone. Isilmé rubbed her forehead in frustration. Next thing she’d know, Usaeleí would come to her in a dress. Gods, her childhood friends were great and all, but they worried her immensely. She chuckled slightly to herself as she reminisced on their adventures. “Lost in thought, ‘Sil?” She heard Kodlak say and she looked up from her daze. The old Nord took the seat across from her. He caught the scents of Khyeena and Karliah before he set a book down in front of him. “I can tell we had strangers here. Did they have a job for us?” 

“ _Niid_. They just old friends of mine and needed me to translate some Falmer text.” 

He pulled his head away from the scripture he was reading. “I was not aware you could read Falmer.” 

“I’ve always been able to read it. Even on Solsthiem. I just didn’t know why or how I could until now. I mean, Dovahzul makes sense to me because I am Dragonborn,” She explained as she rubbed her head thoughtfully, “Now that I think about it, isn’t Ancient Nord similar to the Dragon Language, Kodlak?”

“That is an excellent question, youngling,” He answered, stroking his beard thoughtfully, “and one that I cannot answer, for I do not know it.” The two chuckled softly before it became an uncomfortable silence. Kodlak glanced at her once more. Although she told him what had transpired the night before; which he was grateful for her finding another important clue; he was startled when she mentioned that she curious about taking on her Beastblood. _Then again, Akatosh is the Dragon God of Time AND the father of the dragons, including Isilmé’s soul, if I remember correctly_. He furrowed his brow further at the thought, _so, by all rights, He has a claim on her soul even on death_. He blinked when he saw a hand wave in front of his face.

“I’m sorry. I got lost in thought. Forgive me.” Kodlak cleared his throat. Isilmé nodded her head understandingly.

“Kodlak, are you disappointed in me or something?” She asked him in a quiet voice.  
He stared at her in alarm. He shook his head.

“No, youngling. Far from it. Worried for you, as I am for all of the Companions, yes. But not disappointed.” He reassured her, resting a hand on her cheek. His silvery eyes smiling at her and a small smile graced her beautiful elven face. 

They continued to converse up until sunset and Isilmé left to the training yard for find Skjor and Aela. Instead, she found only Skjor waiting near the stairway leading up to the Skyforge, lost in thought. His nose twitched slightly and he turned his head towards his Shield-Sister. “Ah, good. You made it.” He smiled as he beckoned her closer. She approached, warily. She then looked around for the Huntress to find her nowhere in sight.

“Aela is waiting for us in the Underforge.” Skjor explained as he noticed her searching for their Shield-Sister.

“The Under- what? What is this place?” Isilmé crossed her arms then blinked in disbelief when the one-eyed Nord pulled aside some thick shrubbery to reveal a hidden stone door.

“Kodlak probably told you this already, but Jorrvaskr is the oldest building in Skyrim. The Skyrforge, however, was here long before it was,” Skjor began as he leaned against the wall casually studying Isilmé’s reaction, “And the Underforge taps an ancient magic that is older than man or elves. Come.” The Nord pushed the stone door in a bit and it slid open for both of them. Once inside, the door closed behind them, silent as the grave. It had been a long time since the Inner Circle had a heart like Isilmé’s among their numbers. Skjor did not think the ceremony they held at the hall befitted warriors like them. She deserves more honor than some calls or feasting He thought to himself as they approached a large chamber where a massive stone altar cradling a medium size carved stone bowl stood. Behind the altar, laying atop large rock was a werewolf.

Not just any werewolf. As the Snow Elf locked eyes with the creature, she instantly recognized its fiery red coat and alluring green eyes. “Aela?” The she-wolf nodded her canine head flicking her gaze towards Skjor who nodded. He strolled over to his transformed Sister as she swished her tail curiously. “I am pleased that you recognize Aela in this form. She has agreed to be your teacher as well as your forebear.” He stated as he scratched behind the Huntress’ ears earning a pleased growl from her throat. He then noticed the Dragonborn was silent then grunted when Aela prodded him roughly in the shoulder with her muzzle.

“Isilmé, I know you are uncertain and that’s normal. I know Kodlak wouldn’t approve however, in the long run, it is your decision. The ritual is a bit dramatic and intense. But that is to be expected for the first transformation.” He said gruffly and rested a hand on her shoulder. She lifted her head to find Skjor giving her a rare, genuine, reassuring smile. “Additionally, it will help you control your own beastblood.” Isilmé nodded before glancing at Aela. 

“I’m ready.” 

Skjor nodded and Aela rose to her feet and held her hand over the bowl. The one-eyed Companion unsheathed a steel dagger and slit the werewolf’s palm and the Dragonborn watched uncomfortably as the blood dripped and trickled into the bowl. She felt her stomach lurch but she kept the bile down. Once the bowl was filled to a certain point, Aela pulled her paw away and returned to her perch where she began licking her paw.

Isilmé had turned a slight shade of green as Skjor explained that in order for her to gain the full control of her own beastblood, she’d have to drink the offering. “I don’t... I think I’m going to-” “I know. It’s gross and yes, it tastes horrible but this is actually the safest way.” Skjor sympathized, “And Aela will be here to help you.” He gave Aela a firm nod then left the Underforge. 

Isilmé swallowed hard as she shakily approached the blood bowl. She took a deep shaky breath before cupping her hand and scooping a handful of the warm liquid. The blood was warm and red in contrast to her pale hand. She brought it to her lips shakily and downed it in a single swig. Aela’s ears perked up in alarm as the Dragonborn started coughing violently and clutching her throat. Aela knew that each of the Companions had a reaction to the beastblood in a different or unique way. She dropped from her perch as her Shield-Sister fell to her knees holding her abdomen in pain from the coughing fit and she gave a worried whine. Be strong, Sister...

Isilmé panted softly as her breathing returned to normal and rose to her feet. She wasn’t even aware that her teeth were beginning to morph- growing longer, sharper to rip those in her way to pieces. She barely noticed her elven ears morphed in a more wolf-like form. Soon her angelic face transformed into a wolf’s muzzle. She did notice her fingernails grow and stretch out to form claws. She felt something surge through her, and she leaned forward against the stone bowl. She could hear tiny cracks popping and it suddenly occurred to her that the popping sounds were her bones reforming. Yet she felt no pain...

She arched her back as her spine started to twist. She could feel her bones moving around and morphing into her new form- a werewolf form. A scream erupted from her body as her ribs suddenly shattered... And again, she felt no pain. How? She knew not. It just felt...right. Like they were in an awkward position before. Isilmé grunted as she felt the beating of her heart quicken from a steady rhythm to painful racing pulse as her body continued to change into a more wolfish form. She let out a pained scream and fell back to the floor as a wave of pain flooded her small frame. She clenched her teeth as she felt her spine grow, a great force pierced from the bottom of her back and she felt something beating at a steady pace against the ground. A tail had started to grow causing the Dragonborn’s spine to twist and snap leaving her screaming.

Isilmé lost air. She couldn’t breathe! She struggled and gasped for air to lessen the stress on her lungs which thankfully helped and her breathing returned to normal. She then watched in awe as she saw tufts of silvery white fur start crawling around her new form like a warm, comforting blanket. Her braided hair unraveled blending into a mane of silky fur. Her vocal cords tore and reformed, thus changing her screams into howls and growls. She could feel her transformation finish when all her bones snapped into the perfect position and she let loose an almost dragon-like howl before she collapsed once more on the ground like a newborn deer.

Aela circled around the slivery white heap warily noticing faint blue Daedric runes running along her body; occasionally pressing her cold, wet nose into Isilmé’s side. A low warning growl emanated from the Dragonborn’s throat. “Don’t do that please...” She spoke. The Huntress’ eyes widen in shock. _Did you actually just talk to me?_ Aela questioned her telepathically, _like actually speaking aloud? Not with your thoughts?_ The white beast lifted her head weakly. “Yeah... I did. Can’t you?” Isilmé confirmed as Aela sat in front of her and shook her head from side to side. The Dragonborn rose to her feet, remaining on all fours as she adjusted to her new form. She didn’t feel any different; save for her now enhanced senses. She could hear the faint beating of her Shield-Sister's heart. 

She sniffed the air. Cold, crisp. Fresh. A breeze from outside caressed her long silk coat and she turned towards it. Her ears flicked forward. Chirp. Chirp. Chirp. Crickets. She took her first few steps towards a tunnel. Her tail swished. Before waiting for her Shield-Sister, Isilmé felt a sudden pull in her chest. It was ordering, no, beckoning her to come outside in to the open. _Come to me_... She took off, leaving Aela behind without even looking back. _Isilmé! Wait!_ Aela barked trying to catch up to her. Within moments, she was gone. One would think a snow-white werewolf would be easy to spot, but Aela would disagree. Out in the outskirts of Whiterun, a thick dense fog blanketed the plains, camouflaging the Snow Elf seamlessly. 

Snout to the ground, Aela tried to pick up her Sister’s scent but to her horror and surprise; she found nothing. Not a trace. It was as if Isilmé became a ghost in the night and simply vanished like a wisp. 

Gods, Kodlak was going to wring her neck. She pressed on, catching faint trails but nothing turned up. _‘Sil where are you?_ Aela worried.

A few hours later with no success, the Huntress reluctantly returned to the Underforge to find Skjor and Kodlak waiting for her. If looks could kill, Kodlak’s stare would definitely do the deed. “Where’s Isilmé? And more importantly, why aren’t you with her?” Kodlak demanded doing his very best not to let his anger get the best of him. She explained that she had lost the Dragonborn’s scent even though she literally right behind her. “She vanished like an ice wraith in the fog. It doesn’t help that her coat is as white as freshly fallen snow.”

“You’re joking?!” Kodlak questioned frightfully.

“Where ever she is, I pray she stays safe.” Skjor said huskily.

“Skjor, Aela. You two will leave immediately to continue the search.” Kodlak advised and the two nodded firmly.

Isilmé panted as she trudged through the dense forest, hidden by the thick fog and she looked around. The strange sensation in her chest had vanished, so she assumed she was in the right spot. She flicked her ears forward and rose on her hind legs and started walking silently. A figure appeared from her peripheral vision but instantly vanished when she tried to steal a glance at it. She caught a strange scent. It smelt familiar, yet she couldn’t pin how or where she knew it from. A faint howl pulled her from her thoughts. It was deep, demanding and heavy with authority. She pulled her lips back and returned the howl in response. Her purple eyes widen as the fog began to condense in front of her, forming another figure before her. A male werewolf figure that seemed to tower over her. 

Hircine changed from the spectral beast to a spectral elf wearing thick furred armor, who slowly walked towards her and placed a large hand on her head. He whispered something intangible and she found herself reverting back to her elven form. Thankfully, she remained completely clothed in her deerskin leggings and tunic. The Prince smiled once more as he spoke to her, “Isilmé.” She shuddered as her mind reeled to process his soft, tender; albeit firm voice. She responded with a small nod. Suddenly, he embraced her tightly sending shivers up her spine. By the Divines! He was freezing to the touch!

“You look so much like your mother,” He stated as he ran his large hand through her silver tresses lovingly. Isilmé tilted her head baffled at the spirit. But upon closer inspection, she DID notice that they shared similar features. She had the same fierce yet gentle purple eyes as the stranger however his hair was long and kind of unkept and was a jet black color. So she assumed her hair came from her mother. She could barely find the words to say but she managed to produce one word: 

“Father?”

He nodded again, silently regretting that he couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth as he pulled away from her only to topple backwards when she lunged at him and wrap her arms around his back. He rubbed her back gently and for a while, the two shared a quiet moment. It was the call of a pine thrush that jolted the two from their blissful moment and he glanced down at his Cub who looked back at him. _His Cub_... The thought made him hum with pride. He cleared his throat remembering why he was here. “I do not have much time, but um Hircine, I mean the Master requested that I teach you basics of being a werewolf. Would you endure this old ghost’s lectures and teachings?” 

“I’d be more than delighted if it means I can spend a little time with you, Father.” His daughter smiled sweetly. His heart throbbed painfully from guilt.

“Then we’re off to the Hunting Grounds.” He smiled softly hiding his discomfort and as he snapped his fingers, a small rift opening before them and they strolled on in. The sight left her breathless.

There was something utterly enchanting and beautiful about the Hunting Grounds. Seemingly endless, the towering trees rise so far into the air that clouds obscure the tops. Easily larger than Dragonsreach, the ancient giants blocked out most of the moonlight and cast the forest floor in cool twilight. Massive ferns and other leafy plants clusters between the trees over thick green mosses that crawl across the black earth and up along the foliage. She found that she was back in her beast form and she realized while silently trudging after her father who had also taken his were form. _Talos he’s huge!_ She thought. Her father’s wolf form was almost the size Sylph, if not bigger and Isilmé barely came up to his shoulders. His coat greatly contrasted hers with his being black as night while hers was more like the color of freshly fallen snow. 

He brought them to a large clearing near a cascading waterfall where he suddenly crouched low in the tall grass and growled lowly for her to follow. “Normally, those with beastblood feed upon human or elven prey to gain power but I personally requested the Daedric Prince to make an exception for you.” he explained in a whisper as they watched a deer graze silently, completely unaware of the wolves downwind of it, “In time, you’ll be able to access more of your powers as you find my- er I mean the Totems of Hircine.” His cub turned her lupine head towards him and nodded. He pressed his nose to her cheek. _That was too close_...

Hours went by and still Skjor and Aela could not find their Shield-Sister anywhere. They had been searching since midnight and were growing frustrated. “You sure she didn’t just turn feral and run?” Skjor scoffed earning a low growl from Aela. “I’m certain. She didn’t act on instinct. Something called her.” The Huntress insisted as she looked around the road. Finally, the familiar scent of their fellow Companion permeated their senses and they took off after the scent. Where they found her instantly made their blood run cold. She was curled up, sleeping peacefully under some fallen logs right in front of an old fort called Gallows Rock now occupied by their old foes: The Silver Hand!

 _Shit_....The two Companions thought in sync.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translation
> 
> Niid- no
> 
> (Yeah Hircine acting as a father is a bit difficult so.... Yeah. Bare with me)


	13. Death of Skjor

“Are you awake?” Isilmé groaned weakly as her eyes fluttered open and she found Aela kneeling before her, the back of her hand pressed against the Dragonborn’s temple, “I was starting to think you might never come back.” She helped Isilmé sit up and handed her a waterskin. Gingerly, the Snow Elf drank the water to quench her parched throat. Aela went on to explain that although her transformation was not an easy one, she definitely gave her and Skjor more trouble than Farkas when he first turned. Farkas of all people. “Where are we?” The Dragonborn croaked hoarsely, her throat still a little dry. Aela chuckled a little darkly as she turned towards the fort.

“You actually led us to where a part of the Silver Hand is stationed. Somewhere near Windhelm. Skjor is scouting ahead and the three of us are going to slaughter them. All of them. Come on. We shouldn’t keep our Brother waiting.” Isilmé shuddered at the bloodlust in the Huntress’ voice but a part of her told her to follow her Shield-Sister. The two women took on their wolf forms and stormed the fort finding most of the occupants dead already but Isilmé smelt Skjor’s scent. He was hurt and possibly in danger. Aela sensed it too and the two wolves sprinted through the dungeon only to stop when the white beast spotted another werewolf in a cell. Dark brown in color, emaciated, hollowed amber eyes. Starved... 

He whined weakly. Aela shook her head at her charge but yipped in alarm when Isilmé snarled at her. Using her claw, the Dragonborn began picking the lock to the cell. A satisfying click resonated from the empty chamber and she tore the door open. The black beast pointed to another chamber with its door closed and he growled weakly before bolting out of the building. What did he say? Aela asked Isilmé who dropped to all fours. “He said Skjor was taken to someone called Krev the Skinner in that chamber over there.” She answered. Aela’s ears stood straight up in alarm as they approached the door only to find it was barred on the other side. Thinking quickly, Isilmé stood back and inhaled softly. 

Her eyes glowed as a Shout left her maw. “ _ **FUS** **!!!**_ ” 

The shockwave splintered the door off its hinges as the two werewolves proceeded through the hall leading to the chamber, the sound of another werewolf's snarls and roars echoing louder and louder. The sound of metal striking flesh. A pained whimper. Silence. They came to a halt at the sight before them. They found a large warrior in steel armor holding a bloodied silver sword while standing over the now deceased body of a brownish-gray werewolf. Their Shield-Brother; Skjor. Isilmé didn’t even have the chance to process what she was seeing but she could feel her blood boil with rage. Aela, on the other hand, snapped. She then launched herself at Krev sinking her long fangs into the man’s neck and in a swift motion, popped the vile man’s head from his body with very little effort. 

The red she-wolf then proceeded to rip into the Skinner’s chest, tearing apart his steel chest plate and practically ripped the man’s still pulsing heart out of his ribcage. With a dark snarl, she devoured the organ and licked her chops before shifting to her human form. “Damn it! We were too late! Skjor was the strongest we had!” The Huntress snapped angrily as she gazed down at her fallen comrade. She gave the Dragonborn a sinister look. “I have work to do. The Silver Hand will pay for what they’ve done to Skjor! You get out of here.” She roared sorrowfully. Isilmé narrowed her eyes and shook her head.

“No, Aela. I will not.” The Dragonborn stated firmly. She had a hunch that if she were to leave her forbearer alone for even a second, the now wrath-filled Huntress would most definitely do something rash or worse, end up dead. Aela turned towards the exit only to have Isilmé block the way. The angry Companion was in no mood to listen and attempted to push passed her but was met by a reprimanding snarl. “AELA, STOP!” Isilmé ordered, the building shaking slightly to her _Thu’um_ , as she pushed the flame-haired Huntress back, “You’ve already killed their leader! Isn’t that enough?”

“NO! The Silver Hand must pay!” Aela spat harshly, her green eyes bleeding into an amber color. The look in her eyes told her that Isilmé needed knock some sense into her Shield-Sister soon or this would end in a bloody fight. For a good long while, the two glared at each other intently; neither willing to back down.

“Aela, you can’t do anything right in your state of mind,” The Dragonborn said coolly and was internally relieved to see Aela visibly start to calm, “We need to get back to Jorrvaskr. I will stay and help you bury Skjor and find information.” Aela nodded sadly then flinched when Isilmé pulled her into a small embrace. Patting her back, she realized that she was comforting her for her loss. Gods, she hoped that no one else would see her this vulnerable. The two built a funeral pyre fit for a warrior of Skjor’s stature and after giving Arkay’s Blessing, they ignited the branches. 

Soon the sun had risen over the fort, bathing the area in a bright red-gold hue. The two women were still staring at the now smoldering pile of ash and embers. Aela draped her cloak around Isilmé’s shoulders while wrapping Skjor’s around hers. The two women caught a carriage leaving Windhelm back to Whiterun and rode in complete silence. Aela’s eyes were cold and empty looking and she was cradling Skjor’s dagger as though it were made of glass. Isilmé had no words but hung her head low. She hid her face between her palms. _This is my fault_... She said to herself. _If I hadn’t run off like that._.. Aela glanced up upon seeing the sun reflecting off the Dragonborn’s hair. Her shoulders were shuddering slightly. The Huntress’ sensitive ears could hear the shakiness in her Sister’s breathing, however she remained silent. 

Within a couple hours, the carriage arrived at Whiterun’s stables and after paying the driver, the two slowly, depressingly, made their way back to Jorrvaskr. They were grateful that everyone was asleep still. Aela retired to her room and closed the door quietly leaving Isilmé standing alone in the vacant halls. She rubbed her shoulder quietly before approaching Kodlak’s study. She then rapped slightly upon the door. And waited. She heard the shifting of fabric, a soft groan then the door opened. She was met with the fierce silvery gaze of the Harbinger in his night clothes. At first, the old man was grumbling about being woken up so early that was until he saw the pale Elf standing before him.

“Lass! You’re alright!” 

She nodded a little before dropping her gaze. His eyes narrowed with concern as he rested his hand upon her shoulder. He felt her flinch ever so slightly. “What’s wrong, ‘Sil?” She shook her head again biting her lower lip. He ushered her into his study and had her sit down. He then poured her a glass of water and sat down beside her. “Tell me, girl. What happened?” Kodlak urged her and she took a shaky breath. She then divulged all that transpired at Gallows Rock and how she felt it was her fault that they lost Skjor. Kodlak listened quietly but when Isilmé explained that Aela was planning on going on a full-fledged war with the Silver Hand, he held his hand up to stop her. “I fear there will already be retaliation for the attack on Gallows Rock,” Kodlak warned and crossed his arms over his chest, “however, I understand that they attacked the fort because you were so close the Silver Hand and were only trying to protect you.”

“I told Aela I wasn’t going to let her-”

“And you did the right thing in getting her to clear her mind and return home. I understand her grief. My own heart weeps at the loss of Skjor.” Kodlak interrupted, “But we do not blame you for what happened. The beast blood affects everyone differently on the first transformation and most don’t have control over their beast. Some never do.”

“Kodlak, I didn’t feel any different, other than my senses being enhanced, I felt fine until something pulled on my chest…” Isilmé explained as she thought back on the transformation, “I will admit though, I don't remember falling asleep. Nor did I feel any different upon awakening.”

He raised a brow. “Do you think it may have something to do with me being Dragonborn or me actually being born with the blood?” She questioned though it was mostly to herself. “Could be. I will inform everyone later today about the passing of Skjor. You should try and get some rest. You and Aela have had a long night.” She nodded briefly and rose to her feet, setting the glass of water on the table, she left the study and closed the door behind her. However, she refused to go to the whelps’ quarters. Instead she just slumped to the floor, her back against the stone wall leading to the twins’ quarters and she hugged her knees. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she bit her lip again, shoulders trembling. She ended up crying herself to sleep.

“’Sil?” 

She lifted her head up and found Farkas and Vilkas, still in their night clothes, glancing down at her. Their ice-blue eyes scanning her with concern. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and forced a smile. “Oh. Morning. I didn’t mean to wake you...” She tried to explained. “It’s afternoon, Sister.” Farkas smiled a little. “Kodlak told us about Skjor...” Vilkas whispered. She flinched and curled up further in on herself. “Isilmé, it wasn’t your fault.” The younger twin said as he knelt down beside her and rubbed her back. Vilkas followed suit and the two hugged their Shield-Sister tightly. She buried her head into Farkas’ shoulder soft, barely audible cries escaping her throat. 

After she had calmed down, Isilmé approached Aela’s room, with a tray of food in her hand and knocked on her door. No response. She knocked once more which was answered by an irritated growl. 

“Go away, ‘Sil.”

“Aela... You haven’t eaten. I brought you some roasted venison...”

“Not hungry.” Aela growled curtly. Her voice sounded scratchy and that made Isilmé’s heart sink. The Huntress had been crying. Mourning.

“Can I at least come in and leave the tray on your nightstand?”

The Huntress did not answer but the Dragonborn heard the creaking of the bed followed by the clicking of the door opening. The Snow Elf warily entered the room and placed the tray on the table near Aela’s bedside. She stood there for a moment with Aela’s back to her in silence. Realizing that her Shield-Sister wasn’t going to leave her be, the Huntress sat up and turned towards her. “Isilmé, I’ll be fine,” She said hoarsely as she rubbed her puffy eyes, “I’ll eat in a minute, alright? I just want to be alone for a while.”

“I understand... I just-”

“I know, Sister” Aela interrupted holding up a hand, “And I appreciate what you’re doing.”

She all but kicked Isilmé out of her room and Aela stole a glance at the tray. Her stomach growled but her heart was still heavy with grief and pain. Skjor... Gods, she missed him terribly. She looked at her door. Skjor’s room was just across from hers and even now, his scent still lingered on the wind. She closed her eyes remembering the nights they shared hunting as werewolves, playing, rough-housing. Gods, they had many adventures


	14. Kodak's Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aela inquires help from the Dragonborn. May revise this since. Wrote it half asleep

Time flew by swiftly and soon; two months had gone by. Things were somewhat normal. Or as normal as things could be without Skjor. The Companions received a new member, though, Isilmé and the twins didn’t really like him much. Something about him made them uneasy. Aela had refused to talk much and would more often than not, go on hunting trips. Isilmé and Kodlak worried for their fellow Companion and prayed that she wasn’t doing anything rash. Ria and Njada expressed their concerns along with Athis and Torvar. Even Tilma was concerned. Still, the Huntress insisted that she was fine. 

One day, however, upon returning from two Nordic ruins and discovering a couple new Word Walls, Wuld and Nah, in the Hold of Solitude with the twins, Isilmé was approached by Aela. Instantly, Isilmé sensed something was wrong. She motioned for the twins to go on ahead and she followed Aela to the river where the two sat upon the rocks in silence. After what felt like an eternity, the Huntress finally spoke in a hushed voice. “I need your help, Sister.” The Dragonborn narrowed her eyes suspiciously. She disliked that hushed tone. “Aela, what is going on?” Isilmé demanded as she crossed her arms over her chest then her eyebrows receded into her hairline, “Don’t tell me the hunting trips you’ve been on were actually-”

“Skjor always said you were a sharp one.” Aela stated. An indirect confession, but a confession nonetheless. 

“Aela! We’ve been through this! You avenged Skjor already! Why are you hunting the Silver Hand?! And alone might I add?!” The Snow Elf snapped angrily, pinching the bridge of her nose in aggravation. 

“Because they have to pay! All of the Silver Hand has to pay for what they did to my mate!” Aela snapped before her green eyes widen into the size of saucers and she adverted her gaze. Isilmé blinked at her. _Well, I was right about them being a couple and I understand Aela’s pain but this isn’t justice..._

“This is vengeance, Aela...” Isilmé stated “and it’s a dangerous path. There will be repercussions for it.

“I am aware of my actions! But can you help me or not?!” The Huntress hissed.

“Only if you tell Kodlak what you’ve been up to? Or at least let me tell him?” Isilmé compromised. The Huntress scoffed then waved her hand irritatedly. “Fine.” Aela relented. According to the journals Aela acquired, there was a small band of the Silver Hand holding up in the Falkreath Hold, just a day’s ride from Riverwood. Supposedly, they have a fragment of Wuuthrad somewhere with their stronghold. Thankfully, Aela agreed to just rely on sneaking into the fort and liberating the piece. “Talos preserve me. Fine! I’ll do it but I am going to tell Kodlak.” The Elf relented. She ran her hand through her hair sheepishly, a habit she picked up from the twins, and she let out an irritated huff. Aela, thank Talos, returned Jorrvaskr. 

“You're not serious, are you Lass?” Kodlad gaped at the revelation. Isilmé nodded gravely. How she wished she wasn’t the bearer of bad news. “I wish it were merely a jest, Harbinger.” Isilmé lamented. Kodlak sighed running his hand through his silvery gray hair. First, Aela and Skjor go against his wishes in giving Isilmé the beastblood; though he knew the Dragonborn wanted it. Second, the Companions lose Skjor to the Silver Hand and to top it all off, Aela had been secretly hunting down the Silver Hand; in which now she has roped in the Dragonborn's aid. Though he was glad that Isilmé was willing to help keep the troubled Huntress in check by keeping her somewhat level headed, both of them knew it was now only a matter of time before the Silver Hand retaliated. 

Clearing his throat, he motioned for the Snow Elf to approach his desk where he unrolled a map with a small circle marked a little way off from between the borders of Markarth and Falkreath. The Harbinger went on to explain that he discovered the location of the cult that first originally ‘gifted’ the Companions with lycanthropy thanks to the clues that Isilmé had received from Hircine. He further explained that it has been over three hundred years since the Companions last had contact with the Glenmoril Witch coven but he surmised that they still lived in their little hideaway in the mountains. “I need you to bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities. From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity.” Kodlak finished as he took a glance at the Dragonborn. She held her chin with a curled hand, her brow furrowed in deep thought. A determined glint entered her eyes as she began cracking her knuckles.

“It shall be done. I will leave by sunset.” Isilmé replied as she rested her hand on Kodlak’s shoulder. “I will not fail you.”

“I know you won’t. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild and leave none of the foul witches alive.” Kodlak ordered as he patted her hand. As she left the room, he closed his eyes and took out his private journal and quill. _Talos guide you, my girl_. He silently prayed. 

Isilmé grabbed her pack and started packing some spare clothes and healing potions she had learned to make, along with some paralysis poisons. She donned her chainmail armor since her new armor was still receiving some final touches and strapped Dawnbreaker to her side. She then gathered her bow and a quiver of arrows before heading upstairs to gather some food for her travels. She received several confused looks from her Shield-Siblings, excluding Aela who was silently eating her stew. Farkas and Vilkas stopped her before she could leave asking where she was going. 

“Kodlak has a mission for me. I don’t know when I will be back, but I’ll return as soon as I can.” She reassured them.

“Do you need us to come with you?” Farkas questioned in a whisper.

“Not this time, Farkas.” She answered shaking her head then whispered low, “Besides, I need you two to keep an eye on our new member.” The twins nodded reluctantly and the Dragonborn was off. 

True to her word, she was out of Whiterun by sunset and astride Sylph, they made it to Falkreath by sun up. She asked the owner of Deadman’s Drink Inn which road was the fastest to Markarth and he pointed to a route that the Khajiit merchants traveled on. Safe, well-traveled and best of all was not too far from the stronghold Aela had talked about. The Dragonborn then ultimately decided that she would take a nap for a few hours before going after the coven of witches. She shuddered to herself. 

Magic always made her uneasy even though she could feel hers just beneath her skin. She glanced at her palm as tiny sparks flicked around her delicate fingers and dissipated into tiny flecks of snow. She remembered witnessing how destruction magic was used for torture when she was a slave to the Thalmor during the Great War as a child. Even with her eyes open, Isilmé could see the ambassador’s smug look on her face as her hands crackled with lightning erratically and her prisoner screaming in sheer agony as the electricity coursed through his body. The Dragonborn shook her head, pushing the memory deep into the darkest corners of her mind as she closed her fist. She soon drifted off to sleep.

It was late in the evening when she awoke. She checked her bow and swords and nodded once she was certain that everything was packed. The Dragonborn turned her gaze to the bright full circle that was Masser shining down upon the village of Falkreath; bathing the now rising fog around her in pale moonlight. Isilmé ultimately opted for traveling on foot since, no disrespect to Sylph, being on foot made it almost impossible for her to be seen or heard. As she trudged through the moss-covered ground nary making a sound, she felt the presence of another being following her. She stopped. Gripping her bow, she twirled around, poised for attack only to find a familiar face.

It was the white stag she had met escaping Helgen! He snorted softly as though chuckling at her reaction causing her to narrow her gaze in irritation, which morphed into an expression of shock when he spoke! 

“We meet again, Cub.” The stag stamped his hooves. 

“Hircine?” 

“The very same.”

“What are you doing here?” The silver-haired Elf asked lowering the bow away from the beast’s face. The beast tossed his antlered head back laughing softly then stared intently at her as her luminous purple eyes shimmered in the moonlight. “Why, I’m here to watch your first Hunt.” He stated casually. She slapped her forehead with her palm in exasperation. The Aspect of Hircine lowered his great head to have their foreheads touch ever so slightly. “I also came to give you information on your quarries.” She stared mesmerized by the inky dark blue eyes as she waited with bated breath for the Daedric Prince to continue. Pulling his head away from her, the stag began walking along a beaten path gently gesturing with his head for her to follow.

“The Glenmoril Witches are a coven of five Hagravens.” She shuddered at the word. Hagraven. They were the horrible conjoining of a woman and a raven created by Hircine and were self-proclaimed ‘priestess’ of the Prince. “As you know, Hagravens are mages in their own right. Very powerful, very dangerous.” Hircine continued to explain as the two stalked the mists as if they were truly ghosts of the fog. “Thankfully, you are in the luck as the group tend to stay within their own little alcoves within the cave.” 

“What’s the bad news?” 

He stopped turning his head to glance over his shoulder. “They are no stranger to warriors and beasts alike. You must rely on precision. Stealth.” And on that note, the phantom beast faded into the mist leaving Isilmé standing alone in the dense fog. She gave an exasperated sigh and began walking once more only to collide into a stone structure. “Oof!” She groaned as she rubbed her head and shoulders before reaching her hands out to touch what she unintentionally hit. Coarse stone. Carved. Stacked. A wall, perhaps? She discovered as she followed the stones that it curved slightly. She looked up and squinted her eyes as best she could then silently grinned. Just breaking through the fog, were two towers linked together by a stone wall and a massive steel gate.

She could hear the faint chatter of people beyond the gate, followed by the sounds of metal striking metal and the scent of meat roasting over a fire. What caught the Snow Elf’s attention the most was that the men and women on the other side were telling gallant stories of the demise of her fellow Shield-Brother; Skjor. This was the fort Aela wanted her to investigate and repossess the fragment of Wuuthrad from! Isilmé felt conflicted. One part of her; she assumed was the wolf in her; wanted to slaughter the vile bastards for the pain they caused Aela. However, her gut was telling her to just get the fragment and continue her hunt for the Glenmoril Coven. 

She emitted a low growl and decided to go with her gut instead. She followed the stone wall until she stumbled into a small ditch where she noticed a crude tunnel leading into the fort. She removed her bow and sword, carefully burying them near the hole’s entrance then proceeded to crawl through the narrow passage. Once on the other side, she quickly realized she made the right decision. There was no way she would have been able to fight them all. Scanning the area from the dark shadows, she sighed in relief when she saw a door close by to her and like a nimble minx, she scampered undetected into the fort. The Dragonborn quickly thanked the Gods for leading her to want she assumed was the storage room and she was even more grateful that she didn’t smell any of the Silver Hand in her area.

After a few minutes of skulking around the storage room, she found another room sealed off by metal bars with switches on either side of her. In the very back of the room, she noticed a pedestal with her prize atop it. She lowered her gaze to find many tripwires and pressure plates leading to the fragment, along with a written piece of parchment. She knelt down to read it. “’It’s a good thing I wrote this down. Right button opens door. Left disarms the traps. I have to press them at the same time.’” She read and resisted the urge to snicker. Apparently one of the Silver Hand members was not very bright or careful. She followed the instructions and was now carefully packing the shard within her boot when she heard voices upstairs and she stiffened.

“Do you really think it was necessary to involve ‘them’?!” A female voice exclaimed.

“Please Gylfii, we had no choice. They are our last chance to end this,” A gruff male voice scoffed. “Not to mention, they have someone there already, fully prepared.”

“But what about-!”

“Enough! The Companions wo~” The voices continued to argue.

What in Oblivion were they talking about?

She strained to listen more but the conversation was growing too faint for even her sensitive ears to hear. Shaking her head, she reminded herself of her mission and made a quick exit from the fort. She collected her weapons and looked around the fog. Heaving a sigh of relief that she was finally out of that area, Isilmé disappeared into the fog. Following the steep incline that was oddly less than a quarter mile away from the fort, the snow-hair Elf found a cave with erected bone statues having a semblance of Hircine out front. Bones and strange roots hung from the trees leading towards the cave causing the Dragonborn to shudder. Silently, she drew her bow and entered the belly of the beast.

Hircine was right about the Hagravens though. They seemed to have their own chambers and the first one she saw was standing by a grand fire in the main chamber. The witch was hideous as can be. Her legs were bird-like with black feathers crawling up her thighs. Her ‘skirt’ and chest were made up of long greasy black feathers. The witch’s hands had long brittle looking fingers with grossly long sharp talons. She was struck down swiftly with an arrow to through the head. The Dragonborn dragged a large burlap sack as she diligently removed the hag’s head. Even their heads look like a bird! She grimaced in disgust. One down, four to go. 

The Snow Elf managed to down three more of the witches with her arrows, but the fifth one, she missed. The Hagraven turned around and locked eyes with the Dragonborn. Instead of attacking her, the witch merely cackled and leaned against the wall behind her as the Dragonborn aimed her bow once more at the Hagraven. “I congratulate you, little dragon. You struck down my sisters.” The hag rasped visibly showing no surprise. _Did she know I was coming?_ Isilmé asked herself. 

“Of course, I knew, little Morsel!” The old witch sneered, “It was only a matter of time before the Companions would hunt us down like common beasts. I also know what you are, Dragonborn. Your true lineage.” Isilmé remained silent, her gaze never leaving the Glenmoril witch’s eyes. “Ah, our Master has not told you, has he?” Taunted the witch as she casually pushed herself from the wall and shuffled slowly towards the pale Elf. “One of Akatosh, you are. Yes. And Hircine....” Isilmé blinked in disbelief. She closed her eyes for less than half a second and yelped when she found the Hagraven standing mere inches from her. The Hag wrenched the bow from the woman’s grasp and tossed it aside. She gripped Isilmé by her throat with one boney hand and lifted her up with surprising strength. Delighting in the Dragonborn’s squirming form, the Hagraven reached for the Elf’s glowing purple eyes. Isilmé snarled weakly, gripping the horrible hag’s hand then proceeded to crush the brittle bones.

Shrieking like a raven, the witch dropped her prey and clutched her broken hand, cursing the white beast. “Vile Morsel! Horrible!” She screeched only to be silenced when Dawnbreaker was thrust through her chest. “ _Aav fin dilon, dukaan sunvaar!_ ” Whispered the Dragonborn as she kicked the dead creature off her blade. After wiping the blade clean with a rag on the table, Isilmé gathered the final head and proceeded to leave the cave but not before setting the entire cavern ablaze with her Thu’um. She strolled by the Silver Hand’s fort only to find it razed to the ground in a blazing inferno. She heard a dragon’s roar near the area but didn’t have the energy to chase the beast. She continued on her way thanking the gods for the dragon’s unintended help at the fort. By the time she returned to Falkreath, it was already late in the morning. Not wanting to stay any longer, she packed all her belongings, saddle Sylph and rode off towards Whiterun.

The next morning, a couple hours before reaching Whiterun, Sylph gave her mistress a worried whinny. She hardly said a word since their departure and the mare was concerned. Isilmé just patted the horse’s neck absentmindedly. Upon reaching the entrance to the stables the next day, the pair noticed there were more patrols out than normal and quiet murmurs as they passed by. “What’s going on?” Isilmé gave her horse a questioning look. The mare snorted uncertain. The Elf quickly dismounted and raced into the city as Skulvar took the mare’s reins. Sylph whinnied urgently as the Dragonborn grew smaller in the distance.

Why was she so nervous? Why was there blood on the air?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovahzul translations:
> 
> Aav fin dilon, dukaan sunvaar!- Join the Dead, vile monster!


	15. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning from her mission, Isilmé is met with a horrifying sight. Vengeance is in the air.

Bodies... There were so many bodies everywhere around Jorrvaskr! Her Shield-Siblings were standing over the now dead corpses of some of the Silver Hand members with the Jarl and several other villagers chattering indistinctively. What in the world were the Silver Hand doing here?! Isilmé gaped in horror. She nearly tripped making her way up the stairs sparing quick glances at Aela and Tovar before barreling into the hall. The scent of blood was heavier inside then she expected. More corpses of the Silver Hand littered the floor. She saw Njada and Ria tending to Athis who was clutching his abdomen in agony as the two women cleaned his wounds. However, her heart came to a dead stop when she saw the twins kneeling down beside the Harbinger.

“Kodlak....” She stammered like a lost child hoping that maybe this was all a dream.

Vilkas turned his gaze towards her then rose to feet after patting his twin’s shoulder before striding towards her. There was fire in those icy blue eyes of his. Dangerous. Hungry even. “The Silver Hand...” He growled clenching his fists so tight they began turning white, “They finally had the balls to attack Jorrvaskrr. That new member... You were right! He poisoned the old man before he slayed him like a coward!” Isilmé was only half listening to Vilkas. Her gaze was locked firmly onto the old Nord. She then slowly; very slowly, turned her gaze on to her Shield-Brother.   
“Was anyone else hurt?” She asked in an unsettlingly calm voice. 

Vilkas suppressed a shudder. He gulped visibly when she growled lowly. “Athis took a dagger to the gut, but he’ll live. However, the bastards stole all our fragments of Wuuthrad. We need to get them back.” 

“Indeed, and we need to eradicate the Silver Hand.” She bared her teeth, “Once and for all!” 

“I’m coming with you, Sister.” She nodded at Vilkas. She glanced at Farkas who’s eyes were glistening with tears when she knelt down before him. She cupped his scruffy cheek and lifted his gaze to her level. “Farkas, can you make sure everyone is alright and tend to the bodies?” She asked him in a gentle tone. He barely managed to nod when she gave him a hug. The hulking Nord twitched his nose as his wolf seemed to shudder in fear. He could smell his Sister’s rage. The blood-lust. Whether it was from her wolf or her dragon; he knew not. She pulled away from him, gave him the sack and glanced at his twin. “Vilkas, meet me at the stables when you’re ready. I need to speak with Aela.” The Dragonborn growled low. By Oblivion, the Silver Hand would pay dearly. 

“What’s our first move, ‘Sil?” Isilmé heard Vilkas ask as he approached the stables. She turned and studied him intently. He had changed into a leather armor that actually fit him quite well. Oddly enough, she didn’t even think the proud Nord would wear something light weight. She gestured to Magnus. Vilkas nodded his head as he began saddling the massive beast. “First, we head towards the Pale Hold, to Dawnstar. The last of the Silver Hand are holed up in a ruined fort known as Driftshade Refuge. According to the information Aela got from the bodies.” She explained as she tied her silvery locks back into a loose braid and closed Sylph’s stall. The older twin quirked a brow in confusion as he finished strapping his bags to Magnus’ saddle. “We’ll draw less attention riding together,” Isilmé explained plainly then added, “besides, Sylph needs to rest.” 

“That makes sense.” Vilkas admitted as he climbed onto the saddle. He extended his hand down at her then gripping her wrist and hauled her up in front of him. He wrapped his free hand around her middle to keep her steady then urged the massive brute of a horse on to the road. The first few hours were quiet and the only sounds the Companions heard were the clopping of Magnus’ hooves upon the road and the spaced-out calls of the local birds. They made camp for the night after being on the road for nearly eight hours. While the silver haired Elf got their fire going, Vilkas went hunting for their dinner. Magnus was laying down beside Isilmé allowing the woman to lean against his stomach as a big fluffy pillow.

She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but the tantalizing smell of rabbit roasting over the fire sparked her attention along with a slight growl of her stomach to awaken her. “Heh. Good to see that you can sleep so peacefully.” He snorted as he handed her the rabbit haunch. She gave a weak smile. While they ate, the snow-skinned Elf closed her eyes, trying to formulate a plan on how to deal with the last of the Silver Hand without drawing attention to the Companions. The firelight crackled and sparked causing the two warriors’ shadows to dance. She watched them absentmindedly at first but soon her gaze turned into surprise then a wicked grin formed on her face. While watching the shadows dance, she noticed the trees that surrounded their camp gave the illusion of antlers atop their heads.

A startled yelp sounded from Vilkas when she suddenly leapt to her feet and clapped her hands with delight. “Shor’s Beard! Isilmé! Wha-” The young Nord was clutching his heart in alarm. She had unintentionally startled her Shield-Brother in her enthusiasm but she just couldn’t contain herself. “I have an idea on how to handle the Silver Hand!” She said in an excited whisper.

“Aye? Does that include scaring your fellow brother-in-arms?” The lycanthrope retorted as he patted his chest. She sat back down rubbing the back of her head apologetically. “No. Sorry Vil.” He waved his free hand disgruntled.

“So, what, pray tell, IS your idea?”

“You know how the legends of Hircine say that the Father of Manbeasts often appeared to mortals in the form of a man with the head of a stag?”

“Aye. Any werewolf out of its first fur knows of the Daedric Pri- why are you looking at me like that?” Vilkas grumbled suspiciously at her mischievous gaze suddenly feeling like he was going to hate the next words out of her toothy smile. “We dress the parts. Make it seem like Aspects of Hircine have come to take vengeance for the slaughter of his pack” She said plainly. He growled at her and shook his head. He knew what she wanted.  
“Nope.” 

“Come on, Vilkas. Just this once.” She pleaded as she teasingly scooted closer to him. Her Shield-Brother in return moved away. Even the horse snorted in amusement as the two werewolves bantered.

“I ain’t wearing antlers on my head!” He bristled irritably. 

“It’s either the antlers or take on the beastblood.” She countered and he glared at her crossing his arms. “We’re doing this to protect the Companions. Our family. Your twin.” Vilkas soften a bit. He would do anything to protect his brother. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then exhaling slowly glanced at her. She had a point regardless. They needed to cover their tracks; keep the Companions safe and withhold their honor. “You are going to owe me so much for this shit. Keep that in mind.” He relented and the two finished their meal. After finishing dinner, Isilmé explained how they would execute the plan in great detail with Vilkas listening intently. He had to admit, the plan was even better than he thought.

In the next two days, the two arrived at the small mining town and port of Dawnstar, the waves of the ocean lapping at the gravel shores. While Vilkas took care of Magnus, Isilmé wandered into the inn to pay for their rooms. “I only got one room left, girly. You and your companion will have to share the room.” The innkeeper stated grouchily. The Elf sighed in exasperation but paid for the room. Maybe I will just sleep out here. She thought to herself only to bump into someone when she wasn’t paying attention and landed hard on her backside.   
“Oh, bother and befuddle! Ciecro apologies dear la- You!” 

She flinched and turned her gaze to find a familiar jester staring her with wild amber eyes. It was the jester who was traveling with Usaeleí in Whiterun! “I remember you! You were with Usaeleí!” She exclaimed as she took his gloved hand and the Imperial dressed as a red and black clown hoisted her up to her feet. “Pretty silver Elf helped poor Ciecro with his wagon! Yes, Ciecro never forgets a face.” Dusting herself off, the two took a seat at table in the corner and Cierco snatched a sweetroll pastry off a plate while watching the snow-skinned Elf scan the room. Her nose caught her old Argonian friend’s scent but sighed realizing he was not in the tavern.

“Usaeleí left hours ago with a Dark Elf. Ciecro hopes he comes back soon. Ciecro is worried dirty Dark Elf will hurt Ciecro’s precious little drake.” The red-headed jester lamented only to gasp as he covered his mouth. He looked like he said too much.

“I am aware that Usaeleí is a Lycandrake. How do you know what he is?” The Elf questioned as she rested her hand on the hilt of her sword, eyes never leaving the jester. “Do you plan on hurting him?” The jester merely cackled at her threat as though she just said a funny joke.

“Ciecro could ask the White Elf the same question” Ciecro grinned manically as he quickly drew his small dagger only to have it blocked by _Dawnbreaker_. “What is pretty lizard to you, Elf?” He demanded the Dragonborn in an eerie whisper. “He’s like a brother to me. We grew up together.” She answered honestly and to her surprise, but mostly relief, Cierco sheathed his dagger. “Thank Sithis! Ciecro was worried he’d have kill you if you were his lo-.” The jester chuckled happily only to wince when a white scaly fist knocked him on the head lightly from out of the shadows.

“Ciecro. Why don’t you stop pestering Isilmé?” The ghostly colored Argonian hissed gently before turning his mismatched eyes towards his friend. “Apologies, Isilmé. I hope he didn’t scare you.” 

“Not really Usaeleí. It’s good to see you again.” The Elf said warily as she watched the crazy jester grumble and drag his feet downstairs. She turned her head once more when Vilkas walked in dusting the powdery snow from his hair. He glared at the familiar lizard and sat down beside Isilmé. She passed him a mug of warm mead to which the grateful Nord accepted. “What are you doing in Dawnstar?” Usaeleí tilted his head curiously to one side then pulled his scaly lips in a teasing manner. “Are you two dating?”

Vilkas choked on his ale and coughed while Isilmé just rolled her eyes and she shook her head firmly. “No! We are NOT!” Her Shield-Brother nodded firmly in agreement. The lizard was clutching his stomach as he laughed in amusement. Gods, she was so easy to tease even back when they young. He hissed painfully when the Snow Elf grabbed him by his antler and pulled his head down. “You are such an ass-” Her words were cut off by a loud angry roar outside and someone yelled ‘ _Dragon_!’. 

“For fuck’s sake! Now?!” She growled releasing Usaeleí and bolted outside with Vilkas in tow. 

“Sweet Bride of Sithis! What is that?!” The Argonian screeched as the massive creature shook the air with another ear-piercing roar and landed angrily on the snowy road. This one was bigger than the bronze dragon the Dragonborn had slain in Whiterun but it was smaller than the two dragons she fought near Meridia’s temple. This one was much sleeker. Scales were a dark gray and had a very few boney spikes along its spine and tail. It also had a frill on its head instead of horns. Guards were shooting arrows at it but the dragon was focused on one person: Isilmé. It pulled back its lips revealing narrow, needle like fangs and it hissed like a vile serpent from the pits of Oblivion. Growing irritated with the guards, the dragon slammed his tail hard on to the snow cover ground sending a mini earthquake around them and knocking the warriors flat on their bums.

Suddenly the beast took to the air, blending seamlessly into the thick overcast above. The Argonian and Companions scanned the sky restlessly, waiting; dreading when the creature would reappear. 

They did not need to wait long. Isilmé saw it first. The green glowing eyes then a large ball of fire barreling towards them. “ _ **Fo!**_ ” She Shouted as a plume of ice collided into the fireball causing it to fizzle out but in return shrouded the three in a heavy mist. That was when she felt it. Razor sharp talons slashing through her back like her chainmail was only paper. She didn’t have time to recover. The dragon’s serpentine head whipped around her and tossed her into the air, all the while, she heard the shouts and cries of her friends calling out to her as. She acted on instinct. She danced like a leaf just barely avoiding the dragon’s snapping jaws then twisted her body just enough for her to land atop the dragon’s head to which she proceeded to stab the beast through the eye. 

Unable to stay airborne, the dragon plummeted to the ground and Isilmé landed on a pile of snow on the road beside it. She barely noticed the ribbons of light dancing around her, stripping the dragon’s essence, soul and all from its body. Everything went black...

“Is she alright, Priest?” She heard Vilkas say in a muffled voice.

“She will be fine. Most of her wounds healed after absorbing the monster’s soul.”

“How is that even possible? She was bleeding badly! She even landed on the road!”

“One: She landed on a large pile of powdered snow. Second: She’s Dragonborn, lizard.” Vilkas chided.

Usaeleí hissed a little at being called a lizard but let it slide when Vilkas began to explain the legend. The two men ceased their chatter when the snow-skinned Elf sat up rubbing her head and noticed her torso was tightly bandaged. She blinked owlishly when the Argonian hugged her tightly. She patted his back and noticed Vilkas and the strange Jester watching them. “Was the town safe? What was the damage?” The Dragonborn asked then quirked her brow when Usaeleí shook his head laughing before pulling away. “She almost dies and she asks if everyone else is alright. Typical.” The lizard rolled his eyes mirthfully. Isilmé smiled sheepishly.

“Well, Isilmé, I’m afraid Ciecro and I must be going. We need to get to Morthal by tomorrow night.” Usaeleí sighed as Ciecro tapped his foot impatiently. She gripped his forearm nodding her head then glanced at Ciecro. “Anything happens to Usaeleí, I’m hunting you down. Understood?” “Ciecro wouldn’t dream of hurting his little lizard!” The crazy fool laughed. Before she could even tease the Argonian, the two disappeared outside. She shoved the blankets off of her and sighed in disappointment. The dragon had destroyed her chainmail beyond repair. A minor inconvenience. “Sorry, ‘Sil. I couldn’t salvage it. I did stop by the blacksmith and picked up some fur armor.” Her Shield-Brother gestured to the folded furs on the nightstand.

“Thanks.” She said as she examined the furs.

It took her a moment to don her new outfit due the bandages but she managed. The fur mantle fit her snugly and finally she tugged on her boots. She walked over to gather _Dawnbreaker_ and she strapped the sword to her hip, sighing in content. She double-checked to make sure that she had everything packed then hurried outside to find Vilkas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dovah translations
> 
> Fo- Frost


	16. With Grief Comes Healing

The ride to Driftshade was thankfully boring and unamusing. They made camp in a cave not too far from the Silver Hand’s hideout and they went over the plan once more. Since she was still recovering from her battle with the dragon, they had to alter the plan slightly. Instead of Vilkas taking on the façade of an Aspect of Hircine, Isilmé would don the antlers of a young buck, while he would take on the beastblood and run at her side as the wolf. While Vilkas was out hunting for the antlers, Isilmé was altering her original tunic and leggings to resemble a wild savage. She began drawing Daedric rune-like patterns on her snowy skin with some charcoal based paint after donning the outfit. Inspiration hit her as she drew the mark of Hircine around her face, allowing her teeth to grow into her wolf fangs. Now all she needed were the antlers.

As if on cue, the Nord appeared with the small antlers she requested along with deer meat for their dinner tonight. They agreed that they would strike Driftshade right after supper as the moon would be new and would hide them in the shadows more efficiently soon. “Are you sure you are able to do this Sister?” Vilkas asked earning an irritated glared from the Elf. She then rolled her eyes as she tied the antlers tightly to her head, silently thanking Vilkas for finding a young buck. “I’ll be fine Vilkas.” She insisted as they doused the camp fire with the snow they melted for drinking water. She turned her gaze to the sky. 

“It’s time.” 

Surprisingly, Vilkas was actually slightly smaller than his twin as a werewolf. They had the same midnight black coat, but unlike Farkas, Vilkas’ icy blue eyes were tinged with a golden hue. They crouched low in the shadows as they noticed two guards at the entrance to the fort. Isilmé signaled for her Shield-Brother to move. Simultaneously, she released an arrow from her bow, not even bothering to look for she heard her target’s skull crack and Vilkas tore apart the guard’s companion. When he tried to howl, Vilkas growled when his Shield-Sister tapped him on his muzzle and brought her finger to his lips. Silence. She glared and he whined ashamed. They slipped inside.Hush excited whispers, sounds of mirth and merriment, the fluttering of hearts filled the lycanthropes’ ears. They knew none of the fort’s occupants were aware of the intruders silently slaughtering the guards. 

They soon found the bodies of other werewolves in what could only be described as a torture room. The two noticed a few live ones huddled in a cage, weak and mere bags of bones. “Vilkas, we need to get them out.” The Dragonborn ordered only to hear Vilkas growl shaking his head.

 _They aren’t even members of our pack!_ He bared his teeth at her.

“It doesn’t matter if they are pack or not. No one deserves this treatment.” She emphasized by gesturing at the bodies before them. “No one.”

The black beast folded his ears back as his fierce eyes scanned the room. He then swiped his claws across the lock on the cage and yanked the door clean off its hinges. The frightened lycanthropes stared in disbelief but nudged Vilkas and Isilmé with their muzzles before running out of the gods forsaken fort. The two continue onward until they came across an undercroft. The Elf gently pressed her ear against the door. She could hear the muffled chatter of the remaining Silver Hand. She had Vilkas stand back as she inhaled deeply.

“ ** _FUS!_** ” She roared.

The door splintered into mere shards of dust as the Silver Hand sprung to their feet in alarm and terror. Glowing eyes of a werewolf linked to the hip of a horned figure with equally frightening features had some of the ‘proud’ werewolf hunters cowering like sheep. “Hircine sends his regards.” Isilmé murmured on a snarl as she clicked her tongue, signaling her companion to attack. Neither Vilkas or the Dragonborn held back.  
Once certain they had eradicated every Silver Hand member in the fort, Isilmé gathered up the fragments of Wuuthrad that were stowed away in the leader’s quarters and began wiping off the paint from her body. After ridding herself of the antlers and changing back into her fur armor, she found Vilkas standing in the doorway. He looked paler than usual. “Come on. Let's go home.” She said.

Vilkas mumbled profusely as the two tended to Magnus upon arriving finally at the Whiterun stables at around midday the next day. Isilmé grabbed the satchel carrying the fragments of Wuuthrad and the two turned to head up into the city. The streets were empty. Quiet. It seemed as though the entire city was in mourning for the late Kodlak Whitemane. Resting a hand on the Snow Elf’s shoulder, Vilkas guided her back to Jorrvaskr where the two saw the rest of the Companions, Jarl Balgruuf and Euroland standing before the Skyforge. “Come on. They’re probably waiting for us.” Was all the lycanthrope could say before he sprinted ahead to join his twin. 

Sluggishly, the Dragonborn joined them. She saw Kodlak dressed in his armor laying as though he were merely asleep. The funeral, thankfully was short and sweet as they cremated the old Nord’s body within the forge’s fire. The sky was darkening. The scent of rain permeated the white Elf’s senses but she didn’t move. One by one, her Sheild-Siblings retired to the hall to grieve. Aela and the twins retired to the Underforge to grieve together leaving Isilmé alone as she watched the embers die down and sizzle into nothing but ashes. Still she stood there, barely even noticing Euroland’s presence. She absentmindedly handed him the fragments before walking down the stairs and into the Underforge chamber. 

“The old man had one wish!” She heard Vilkas snarl at Aela, “And he didn’t get it!”

“Being ‘moonborn’ isn’t a curse as you’re making it out to be.” The flame-haired werewolf growled back. 

“Maybe not to you, but he wanted to be clean! He wanted to meet Ysgramor and Shor. But now that’s been taken from him.” The older twin growled.

“You avenged him.” Aela sighed exasperated failing to see the point. Farkas however beat the Dragonborn first. “Kodlak did not care for vengeance, Aela!” The large twin snarled through clenched teeth as he crossed his arms angrily.

“No, Farkas. He did not.”

The three lycanthropes turned towards the snow-skinned Elf who was glaring fiercely at Aela. Her purple eyes were glowing with hints of gold as she approached the Huntress. The Dragonborn’s very aura radiated angrily around her small frame. “Kodlak warned you about your thirst for revenge. I warned you about repercussions!” She snarled as the Huntress for the first time in forever felt fear.

“Now, you see the costs of your ‘war’ with the Silver Hand! We lost our beloved leader because of _YOUR_ actions!” Aela trembled as the cavern shuddered to her Shield-Sister's _Voice_. She was right of course but thought it best to remain quiet. The Dragonborn’s gaze pierced though Aela’s emerald green eyes. She huffed disappointedly. “There’s also one more thing, ‘Sil,” Farkas said gruffly as he produced a leather-bound journal and handed it to Isilmé. She took the journal in confusion and looked up at the younger twin. “Kodlak wanted you to have this. It's his private journal.” He explained. She carefully wrapped her delicate hands around the rough leatherbound book. Clearing her throat, Isilmé motioned with her head for them to leave. “We can discuss this later,” She informed them as she closed her eyes, “besides, we...” 

“No. You are right Sister. We need time to grieve. We will speak tomorrow.” Aela admitted and the four of them shuffled outside. Isilmé spent most of her time that day in the stables grooming Sylph. The mare would often nicker at her with worry and concern while watching her mistress bite her lip to keep her tears from falling. “So much has happened, girl. I find that I’m Dragonborn, I became a member of the Companions then Hircine tells me that I’m probably the last of the Snow Elves and we lost Kodlak. But top it all off, those hagraven freaks tell me that I'm also-” She shook her head to keep from finishing that sentence. _No. They had to have been lying. I’m not his child. I’m not the child of a Daedra. Or a Prince for that matter..._ “But, I sensed truth in their words.” She countered at her thoughts. Sylph whipped her head towards the elf as she stopped brushing her and gave her cheek a gentle nudge with her soft velvety snout. “You’re right, Sylph. I better stop thinking about it and try to look ahead.”

A few hours later, Farkas had come down to find his Shield-Sister sleeping against the white mare’s stomach and he gave a sympathetic sigh. He scooped the snow elf into his strong arms and carried her back home. Everyone had gone into their quarters for the evening and too exhausted himself, carried the Dragonborn to his room where he laid her on his bed and took his bedroll to the floor. Isilmé woke up panting later that night from another nightmare and she glanced around to find herself in a room with a bar in the corner. Farkas’ room. She was curled up under the furs of the Nord’s bed as he snored softly, his large frame curled up contently beside the crackling hearth in his room. He turned towards the elf opening one slowly. “Easy, Isilmé, you’re safe. It was just a dream.” Farkas reassured with a yawn as the Dragonborn, like a skittish kitten, crawled down to his bedroll and snuggled close beside him.

Morning came sooner than the two would have liked but being the early riser that she was, Isilmé slipped out of the bedroom and like a ghost made her way to Kodlak’s meeting room. She first made herself look presentable and she sat stiffly in his old chair then called out for Aela and the twins. Once the four members of the inner Circle were gathered inside, the Dragonborn motioned for Farkas to close the door. Aela looked like she wanted say something but the warning glare her Sister gave her made her think twice on it. The Snow Elf tossed a thick book on to the desk. “Kodlak and I managed to have found a cure,” She stated and they all looked down at the book as though it would bite them. 

“You're certain?! How?” Vilkas asked in disbelief, wide eyed.

“The last mission Kodlak had given me was to deal with the ones who began the curse. They were known as the Glenmoril Witches. That and the Prince of the Hunt gave me the final clue.” Isilmé explained and the trio nodded their heads. “Fortunately, I already killed the witches and took their heads. We can undo the curse and set Kodlak free.” The twins glanced at each other hopefully and smiled. Aela nodded with a sigh, giving the other female a curious but respectful look.

“According to this book, we need Wuuthrad to be fully restored. Lucky for us the Silver Hand had most of the shards, save for the few we gathered.” The Dragonborn continued as she picked up the book and went through the pages, “We also need to find the Tomb of Ysgramor. I can look into to that easily while Euroland repairs the weapon.” The trio then left the Dragonborn to her thoughts.

After making sure her Shield-Siblings were gone, Isilmé took out a piece of parchment and quill then set to writing a letter to Usaeleí and Khyeena, asking if they could look for any information in regard to Kodlak's murder. She managed to catch a courier leaving the city and after paying him the gold returned to the hall. She continued to read through the book to try and find the tomb. She didn’t realize how fast time had flown until Farkas knocked on the door pulling her from her thoughts. “Are you going to eat anytime soon, ‘Sil?” Farkas asked her softly. She smiled apologetically then chuckled embarrassed as her stomach growled. 

“I suppose I should.” 

That night, Isilmé slept in Kodlak’s bed fitfully. His scent still lingered and it made her heart ache. She rolled on to her side biting her lip as the tears pricked the corners of her eyes once more. Soon enough though, her silent sobs lulled her to sleep.

_Kodlak... You left too soon._

She awoke to grass tickling her nose and she sneezed before opening her eyes slowly. This wasn’t Jorrvaskrr. She sat up, her gaze shifting downward to find that she was a wolf in a vast forest. Her ears twitched to all manner of sounds. The Hunting Grounds? Why was she here? Isilmé sniffed the air. No sign of the Daedric Prince. Good. She rose to her feet, feeling the ground give beneath her paws hardly making a sound. This part of the Grounds did not look familiar. The trees weren’t like the redwoods she saw when she first visited here. The trees here were gnarled and black, twisting this way and that. A howl pierced through the nightmarish forest as a thick dense fog crawled around her making her fur bristle warily. She pressed on.

A familiar scent wafted through her sensitive nose. “Kodlak?” The white wolf called out as a grey wolf in the distance looked in her direction in shock. He bounded towards her then quickly turned around sparing a glance over his shoulder. He wanted her to follow him and swiftly. Nodding, the white wolf chased after him, weaving through the thick black forest. As they ran, the scenery slowly began to change from the dreary forest to the shores of a beach near the ocean. The Sea of Ghosts? Where was Kodlak taking her?? 

Soon enough, the grey wolf came to a screeching halt near a tomb and he howled to her before fading like a ghost, receding with fog. She tilted her head confused as she approached the ruins. She tasted magic on the wind. “The Tomb of Ysgramor lies near the College of Winterhold?” She questioned aloud as she saw barely peeking through the thick overcast, the college’s bridge in the distance. She swayed as the vision before her spun around her making her dizzy as she slumped down in the cold snow only to awaken in Jorrvaskrr the next morning. Gods above, she would never get used to these visits to the Hunting Grounds.


	17. Family Quarrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still dealing with suppressed emotions; hurt, grief, loss and rage; Isilmé literally takes it out on the Father of the Hunt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes finally revised. We actually see Hircine as an actual parent. (If only briefly)

Soon as the dream ended, the Dragonborn sat up abruptly as she looked around. She was back in Jorvaskrr, laying on Kodlak’s bed glancing around in confusion but was relieved to find herself alone. Groaning softly, she pushed the fur blankets off her and brushed out her white mane before changing into some fresh linens. She sat at Kodlak’s desk and unrolled a map of Skyrim, studying it intently. With a piece of charcoal, the Elf marked the map where the Tomb was and nodded firmly. Her ears twitched to the sounds of voices and clattering plates upstairs. Judging from the scent wafting downstairs, she’d say breakfast was ready and she headed upstairs. Just as she entered the mead hall, everyone went silent and she found that everyone's gaze was on her. She bowed her head weakly and they smiled back at her before resuming their feast. Isilmé sat down between Farkas and Vilkas who were bantering on about the dragon in Dawnstar.

“Mornin’ ‘Sil. Any luck?” Vilkas asked before he growled at his twin who snatched his sweetroll from his plate. Soon enough the two were wrestling and rough housing about the confection. _Boys..._ She rolled her eyes fondly as she turned back towards the table.

She nodded and reached for a biscuit and some cheese. Her eyes flickered towards the Huntress who kept her head down, submissive. Isilmé was still disappointed in Aela and it would take some time before trust would be reestablished. Still there was hope. Once breakfast was finished, the twins and the Huntress remained in the yard to train while Isilmé up to the Skyforge where Euroland was busily pounding and shaping the metal fragments of Wuuthrad. “How goes the progress?” The Dragonborn asked handing the smith a tankard of cold water. He nodded and drank gratefully. After his long drink, Euroland gestured to the mold that the pieces were resting in. “Just two more days and Wuuthrad will be reformed. The flames within the Skyforge feel younger, full of life. Can you feel it?” The old Nord questioned and Isilmé smiled nodding in agreement. There was indeed a strange, but not unwelcomed, youthful presence within the Forge. 

“I suspect after Wuuthrad is reformed, you’ll be able to craft even better weapons and armor.” The Dragonborn hummed. The old blacksmith agreed full heartedly.

The Hagraven’s words still echoed within her mind. Of Akatosh’s blood you are. Yes, and Hircine’s. She shook her head. There was no way. She wandered down to the stables and opened Sylph’s stall. The mare glanced at her curiously. “Wanna join me for a walk?” She asked the mare. Sylph tossed her elegant head back and whinnied in response quietly walking beside the elf as they strolled along the riverbank enjoying the feel of the cool water against their feet. They rested near the now rebuild western watch tower with Isilmé perched on a large slanted rock, while Sylph grazed below her. The elf was fiddling with her hair, braiding it with Altmer style braids when she sensed a familiar presence behind her and she narrowed her eyes. “What are you doing here?” She spat bitterly turning her head to find the white stag looking at her with a surprised face. He was not expecting this much hostility. Sylph was also glaring at the Daedric Prince and she snorted angrily tossing her black mane and pawing at the grass beneath her hooves.

“I wanted to see how you were faring.” He answered gently.

“A bit late for ‘fatherly’ concerns, don’t you think?” The young snow elf hissed as she clenched her fists tightly, her tiny frame shaking with rage. Hircine’s steps faltered, his eyes widen in disbelief and he folded his ears back, holding back a snarl. 

“Who told you?” He asked calmly reverting to his humanoid form, while warily approaching the Dragonborn. Sylph reared defensively but with a flash of his gaze onto the mare, she quieted and returned to grazing. He waved his hand effortlessly and a thin barrier of magicka enveloped the Prince and Isilmé. She refused to answer. “Isilmé, who told you that you were of my blood?” He repeated the question, perhaps a little too harshly. She didn’t answer with her words, but rather physically. She had swiftly leapt to her feet and landed a strong kick to his abdomen that actually knocked the wind out him but he gritted his teeth. Rage. Hurt. Betrayal. He could practically see the blood boiling within her.

“Who do you think?!” She snarled not even caring if she was visibly shifting. Her eyes changed from purple to a mixture of golds, reds and blues. “I learnt it from those damned Witches!” 

She took a swing at him but Hircine’s reflexes were faster. He caught her fist visibly trembling from the sheer power she was exerting. It wasn’t just the power she was exerting physically, her emotions, which she had desperately tried to suppress for so long was finally starting to burst through. He had to act fast. _Isilmé, I’m sorry but you’ll thank me for this later._ Hircine growled as he blocked another of her punches. Using his free hand, he snapped his fingers. The two watched as the Whiterun Plains shuddered, rippled than fizzled into Hircine’s Hunting Grounds. The elf leapt back warily as Hircine let out a soft groan of relief. “There. Now we can have some privacy.” He stated then turned his masked gaze towards his cub as she glared at him. The Huntsman really couldn’t fault the Dragonborn for her rage. “We can either fight or talk. It’s up to you, Cub.”

She crossed her arms, her multi-colored eyes glowing angrily bleeding dangerously to a glowing amber color very similar to his very own. After a long and uncomfortable silence, Isilmé closed her eyes tightly and finally spoke, though her voice cracked when the words left her lips. “Why?” She croaked painfully. “Why should I even listen to you right now?” The Huntsman sighed as he leaned against one of the trees behind him. “You don’t have to listen to me. You’re a grown woman,” He stated then rubbed his neck uncomfortably, “but I owe it you and your mother to be honest and you’ll be needing my help in the future regardless on whether you want it or not.” He watched the young elf just stare at him, her gaze just as piercing as his own before she exhaled and she mirrored his position.

“The Hagravens told me I was not only just your blood but also of Akatosh,” She growled looking over at Hircine. “How?” The Huntsman sighed, scratching his wolf ears with a frown but nodded. “Your mother and I knew there would be complications if she were ever to conceive a child with a daedra, however, we both took the chance. What I never told her was when you came into this world,” He spoke, his ears drooping with a sad expression, “you were a stillborn. Lifeless.” She narrowed her eyes in confusion. 

“Then how am I here?” 

The Father of Manbeasts turned his gaze heavenward and gave a bitter laugh. “Understand that Daedra never consort with Aedra. We are against them, for lack of a better term but, I reached out to whom you mortals call ‘Akatosh’. I begged.... I actually begged to an Aedra.” Hircine hissed as though he had poison in his mouth, “I begged him to give you the gift of life and to my surprise, he did. The cost though was that he gave his blood, the Dragon Blood, to you. In truth, your eyes belong to both myself and..... HIM.” 

“Something tells me all Daedra hate to share.” She chuckled weakly and the Huntsman nodded in agreement. “But one thing doesn’t add up.” The Prince tilted his head in a canine like fashion. She remained silent as she attempted to find the right words to say or ask. His glowing eyes dimmed slightly at her next question. “Why did you leave me? Why hide this from me?”

“Ilmaré requested that you be raised by mortals for your safety. To be fair, I couldn’t raise you here in the Hunting Grounds. It can be extremely dangerous for a newborn, not to mention my followers tend to be very rough and when there are Hunts, well, you would have been fresh meat.” He then added a little reluctantly, “Even I can lose control in my own Hunts. Gridbran Wolf-Blade found you by chance and took you in. But I never abandoned you, so don’t even think it Cub.” She adverted her gaze. Guilty as charge.

“As to why I hid this from you,” Hircine sighed as she glanced at him watching his eyes scan the ground as he sought to find his words, “how could I not? You would never believe it. You’re still having a hard time believing it. Also, Man and Mer fear the Daedra. If they knew a halfling lived among them, they would either hunt you down, or try to bind you to their will. Not to mention, some of my siblings would be after you. Neither will happen as long as I remain.” He moved his eyes back towards his cub who just stared at him, swallowing hard. He closed his eyes solemnly. He heard her breathing calm, but he could hear her heart racing. He heard the crunching of grass, the sound growing fainter, moving away from him. He let out a sadden sigh. She must have delved farther in the Grounds to avoid me or to find a way out...

It was then Hircine felt someone wrapping their arms around his middle and to his great surprise, the scent of snow-star lilies that permeated his sensitive nose, was radiating from Isilmé. He didn’t move. By Anu, he didn’t even breathe as he remained perfectly still, waiting for something. Anything. “I... I can forgive you. This once.” She said softly then gave him a rather frightening glare, her mother’s angry glare. “Lie to me again however and I will never speak to you or acknowledge you again. Fair?”

He laughed internally at the ‘ _threat_ ’. His voice rumbled softly, “Fair.”

“Good. Now, um can you send us back to Whiterun?” The Cub asked, “I am most certain that Sylph is probably having the guards search for me and frankly I do not need any more attention than I do now.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. Shaking his head, he gave a firm growl. “Not so fast, little dragon. We still have much to discuss before I send you back.” Hircine stated then crossed his arms, scolding her as she flashed him a dirty look. Whether she’d like it or not, he needed her to pay attention, “Do not give me that look. It is important and I’d rather you know now instead of later.” 

Meanwhile the twins and Sylph were scouring the plains searching for Isilmé. The mare had chased down the twins while they were sparring in the yard and from her frantic snorting and rearing on her hind legs, they knew something was dreadfully wrong. “You know Farkas,” Vilkas grumbled as they regrouped atop the rocks, she had at one point been sitting on, “she seems to disappear quite frequently.” Farkas patted Sylph’s neck to keep the mare calm before he responded. “Think about it, Vil. She has a lot on her plate. She’s the Dragonborn and no one even knows why,” He began then added in a baffled tone, “then add the fact that she’s a Snow Elf. Or what they used to look like, along with the fact that she may very well be the last of her kind. Finally, we all lost Kodlak fairly recently. I mean, wouldn’t you want to disappear for a while?” Vilkas didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

The sound of whooshing air caught the twins by surprise and before them a strange orb seemingly opened in front of them. The twins glanced at each other and slowly drew their swords, shoulders tensed ready for any threat to make their presence known. When they saw what looked to be a figure walking through, they raised their swords high. Just as they brought them down, the shadow spoke. “Whoa! Watch it, you two! It’s just me!” 

“Isilmé?”

“No, it’s Molag Bal. Yes, it’s me, Vilkas,” Isilmé grumbled slightly as she emerged from the portal and waved her hand over the portal. The orb then shrunk with a loud _pop_. She then turned to face them and smiled fondly when Sylph cantered towards her, whinnying softly and prodded her with her soft muzzle. Farkas sighed in relief. At least she was unharmed. “Ya know, if you keep disappearing on us like this, you’re gonna have to compensate us with a lot of mead.” Farkas teased and chuckled when the elf gave him a playful shove. While they walked back home, Isilmé relayed what had happened before Sylph rushed to get help. “But there is something I need to tell you both. Privately.” She iterated firmly earning a confused stare from the twins, but they nodded towards her as they arrived at the stables. Farkas cleaned both Magnus’ and Sylph’s stall while Vilkas brought down fresh oats and clean water for the horses. The Dragonborn was brushing both the stallion and mare quietly trying to think of how she was going to explain this mess to the twins.

Once the creatures were safely secured in their stalls, the trio wandered down to the river, out of earshot of the guards and prying eyes and ears. They sat atop some rocks overlooking the rushing water and the twins stared intently at the elf, waiting with bated breath for her to speak. With no easy way to start, Isilmé decided to be blunt with them. “So,” She began, “There’s no easy way for me to say this but, it appears that I am actually half daedra as well.” She visibly tensed anticipating them to lash out at her or something. The next thing she heard was the clinking of coins dropping into someone’s palm. “Damn it Farkas! You win again.” Vilkas growled and his twin grinned broadly as he pocketed the gold. 

“Um... what?” The Falmer questioned in confusion. Relief, yes, but also confusion.

“Vilkas and I made a bet after the incident with the vampires.” Farkas smirked as he flipped one of the coins with his fingers. _They what?_ She asked herself. 

“I’m sorry... but am I hearing this right?” She gestured between the two Nord brothers, “You two... made a bet... on whether or not I was part daedra?!”

They both nodded their heads. “Yeah. Guilty as charged.” Vilkas groaned, “I said you weren’t. Farkas said you were considering what he had seen when he and Aela found you.”

“You two are insufferable.” Isilmé shook her head with a laugh, “but I’ll take this reaction over being burnt at the stake any day.”

The Nords laughed at her comment. They sat once more in pleasant silence. “So where did you run away to anyway?” Vilkas asked curiously and Isilmé chuckled embarrassed. She explained how Hircine had taken her back to the Hunting Grounds to have a private talk, away from unwanted spectators. “He also suggests that I start using my magic, including tapping into my daedric magic. I’m not so sure I want to though.” She admitted gazing down at her hands. The two brothers glanced at each other, unsure how to answer. They weren’t mages and frankly didn’t really care for it. When they suggested she could go to the College in Winterhold, they were taken aback by her scoff. “And risk them discovering what I am? Hardly a good idea,” She sighed then added more gently, “Hircine already has a few of his siblings in mind to help me.”

“Wouldn’t that make them your aunts and uncles?”

“I... yeah.” She nods, “I still haven’t come to terms with all this...”

All the twins could do was nod. She sighed hanging her head absentmindedly watching the water run across the rocks and river banks. She could even make out some salmon swinging along the currents. She tilted her head to one side, contemplating. She remembered something Usaeleí had once said when the two first met. “There are times when you can fight against the currents of the river. However, sometimes you have to go with the flow to get to where you need to be.” He had once said and she only now understood what he meant and she made a mental note to thank her friend for his words of wisdom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isilmé's mother's name is Ilmaré. Time for fun facts for this fiction is:
> 
> Ilmaré: Sunlight (in Ancient Falmer (for this story anyway)
> 
> Isilmé: Starlight (in Ancient Falmer for this story


	18. Relatives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hircine properly introduces Isilmé to some of the Daedric Princes.

The next morning, Isilmé left Jorrvaskr after breakfast to go on patrol. Aela offered to come along and thus the two women were now scouring the plains for any threats. There was still a bit of uncomfortable tension between the Nord and Falmer but after a good long while Aela finally couldn’t take it.

“Isilmé, I’m sorry.” Aela blurted out startling the Dragonborn from her thoughts. She turned towards the Huntress in alarm. “You’re apologizing... for what?” Isilmé questioned quirking a brow with interest. Aela crossed her arms tensely, then tapped her foot impatiently. “You were right... It is my fault that we loss Kodlak to the Silver Hand. I...” The red-head muttered mournfully, “shouldn’t have let my rage get the better of me. I was just so angry... They took Skjor. I just...” She felt the Falmer rest her hand on her Shield-Sister's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Her green eyes pierced through Isilmé like an arrow.

“After what Vilkas and I did at Driftshade... I think I understand why you felt the way you did with Skjor.” She smiled weakly.

The two women continued their patrol and were almost back to the stables when the Falmer heard what sounded like horn being sounded. She noticed instantly that neither Aela or the passing guards heard the war horn. “Aela?” She turned towards Isilmé and gave the snow elf a curious stare. “I’ll be back later this evening. I’ll explain later. Just tell the twins I’m with the Huntsman. They’ll fill you in.” Isilmé explained before sprinting in the opposite direction of Whiterun leaving Aela more than a little confused but decided to go inform Farkas and Vilkas anyway. She smiled to herself. At least now she and Isilmé could talk without anger.

“You’re late.” Hircine teased as he appeared before his Cub who nearly collided into him. She planted her hands on her hips. “I was unaware you were timing me.” She retorted and he chuckled deeply. He held up his hand, a portal opening before them and he ushered her inside. Isilmé was expecting to find herself in the Hunting Grounds, but instead she found herself in something far more serene. It was nearly identical to a garden she once visited in Cyrodiil with Gridbran as a very young child save for a few daedra lounging around with mugs of mead and wine. “Um... where are we?” She turned her head slightly to Hircine as he walked through the portal behind her. “This is the Misty Grove. It is part of Sanguine’s realm of Oblivion.” He answered as she followed the Huntsman closely. “I requested that you meet some of my brethren in a place more serene than say, Coldharbour.” There were rivers running under the wooden bridges, the sweet scent of roses and waterlilies provided the Dragonborn with a wave of tranquility. A few floating lanterns lit their path with a dim but inviting light. Soon they found themselves at what appeared to be the end of the grove. A long table at the center decorated with an abundance of food and drink. Isilmé soon discovered that they were not alone.

“Wooow... you weren’t kidding. She is verrry beautiful...” A man said in a slurred voice as he gestured to the two arrivals, “Don’t you think so, Azura?” He looked like a man in his early forties, Breton or Imperial, with dark hair and a five o’clock shadow on his face. A woman sitting beside him rolled her sunshine colored eyes calmly. Her gown and her hair were both the color of dawn and dusk, starting out dark from the top then bleeding beautifully into gold at the bottom. She also had an array of roses in her hair. She glanced up at the Huntsman and the Dragonborn with an inviting smile. “Indeed, she is. Very much like her mother.” 

“Isilmé, this is Azura and Sanguine.” Hircine introduced as he took a chair near the end of the table before adding, “Who else are we waiting for?”

“Meridia should be here momentarily, Brother.” The Daedric Prince of Debauchery groaned as he rubbed his head, “As well as Nocturnal, Molag and Sheogorath. Hermaeus Mora may or may or may not show.” 

“He better fucking not if he knows what’s good for him!” The Huntsman snarled, his hackles standing up and he was visibly baring his fangs. _Not after last time._ Isilmé shifted uncomfortably but took a seat beside Hircine, her gaze flickering between the Daedric Prince of Dawn and Dusk and The Huntsman. She was about to ask her father a question but was rendered silent when portals opened up around the remaining empty chairs and she tensed nervously. One by one, the Daedric Princes manifested into their chairs with a man in very odd attire appearing in front of her. He had white, chin-length hair and a light beard but his outfit was a long-sleeved jacket with the right half a light shade of purple and the other a splendid red. His trousers were a dark gray and had strange purple swirls and lines on them. The only thing that looked ordinary were his boots. He then tugged on her cheeks smiling gleefully. 

“Sheogorath...” Everyone let out an annoyed sighed.

“Oh, Cinny! She's absolutely delightful! Those eyes! That face!” The Mad God giggled, his literal cat-like green eyes studying her curiously. Isilmé’s eyes flicked towards Hircine and found that he was twitching his eye slightly. “Cinny?” She quirked with interest. Hircine shook his head and looked away though the Dragonborn could have sworn he saw a shade of pink spread across Hircine’s face. “Ah Cinny, you ain’t still mad about the lil competition you lost, are you?” Sheogorath tilted his head curiously. “Not in the slightest.” The Huntsman grumbled undignified. “Nope. Still made ya are. Perhaps you need more cheese in your diet. Ooh! Maybe some eyeball pies!” Sheogorath snickered then freed the Falmer’s cheeks finally and sat down beside a rather intimidating looking man. He was, well tall would be an understatement. He was certainly taller than Hircine. His eyes a cold glowing blue, seemed to pierce through Isilmé’s entire being. His long black hair tied behind him and he wore no shirt but he was, very muscular. He gave her a dark grin. 

“I’m inclined to agree with the Mad God, Huntsman. A rather exquisite young woman. May I inquire a taste?” The blue-eyed man rumbled in a voice so deep and seductive, it actually had Isilmé shivering. She then growled defensively, “No. You may not.” 

“Ooh. A fiery lass. Interesting.” The man licked the front of his teeth hungrily, reaching for her but snarled when Hircine produced his spear and had the point pressing in to the man’s shoulder. “Mind yourself, Molag Bal.” Hircine growled a warning. “I will not hesitate to kill you if you harm my Cub.” Molag clicked his tongue and relented to the Hunter. _Wonderful, the Prince of Domination and the Prince of Madness. A strange family gathering indeed._ Isilmé thought as she turned towards to the other Princes. Noctural, dressed in a lovely deep purple and black gown, was affectionately preening the feathers of the crows perched on her shoulder. Meridia, in a simple but elegant gown, had her wings folded around her like a cape, something clinking and shimmering in her hands. 

“Um... not to be rude or anything, but why am I here again?” Isilmé piped up feeling everyone’s gaze on her. 

“This is not just a proper introduction little one. Hircine requested that we meet you and decide the best courses to teach you in regards to knowledge, magic and weaponry.” Azura explained as she gestured to all the Daedra, “Each of us is gifted with magic however we all have specialties that make us all unique. You, however, are a rare case.” 

“What do you mean?” Isilmé questioned suspiciously.

“Why you are like a prism darling.” Meridia chimed in. _Prism?_ Isilmé repeated in her head. The Prince of Light continued, “While you have the blood of a Daedra, you also have the blood of an Aedra which will allow you to learn a large spectrum of abilities. From close-combat to range attacks. The possibilities are endless.” 

“And for a Dragonborn, those are skills to have.” Hircine stated, making a sweeping gesture to his brothers and sisters, “As Azura stated, we all have unique talents. For example, Nocturnal is a master of shadows, stealth and luck. I specialize in with ancient and forgotten magical arts as well as the skills of the Hunt. Sheogorath, despite being Mad, is a brilliant tactician especially when he becomes Jyggalag.” 

“Ah Cinny, you’re making me blush!” The Mad God clapped his cheeks in mock embarrassment. The Huntsman growled slightly, “That is when he wants to be.”

“I can teach in all manners of domination. Bringing your enemies to their knees, to submission.” Molag grinned proudly before adding darkly, “By any means possible.” Isilmé, growing a bit bold rolled her eyes at Molag and chided, “Yeah and you couldn't even ‘subdue’ the Vestige during the Second Era. Oh! And lest we forget about Mannimarco the King of Worms who almost took your place.” She smirked watched the Prince of Domination growl at her comment. Hircine on the other hand swelled with pride at his Cub’s quick wit. He rested his hand on her shoulder as she glanced up at him. “I do propose we start her out with something small. Mainly with her actually tapping into her magicka reserves then after she masters magic, we move on to tactics” Hircine proposed and several of the Princes nodded in agreement. 

“I can help with teaching her the basics, dearest brother.” Azura volunteered, “I honestly have nothing of importance that needs tending to. We can even begin tonight before she heads to sleep.” The Daedric Princes glanced at her awaiting her response.

“What do you think, Isilmé?” Hircine encouraged.

“I think it’s a good idea.” 

“Then it’s settled!” Meridia smiled fondly then glanced at Hircine, “Azura will start Isilmé off with the basics and perhaps, Brother, when she is ready you can teach her the more advanced forms of magic.” He scratched his awkwardly but found the Dragonborn smiling fondly at the idea then he sighed contently and nodded. Molag scoffed, “Sentimental weaklings...” He rested his feet on the table leaning back in his chair. Isilmé chuckled catching his irritated gaze, “If we’re such ‘ _sentimental weaklings_ ’ to you, then why are you still here?” The others bit their lips or let out snickers of amusement. Even when the Daedra snarled a warning, everyone just laughed full-heartedly to the point where even the Lord of Domination was laughing with them. He pointed to Isilmé with a surprisingly soft tone. “You are quite bold. I like that.” He grinned. She bowed her head snickering. 

After a few more hours of conversing and scolding the Mad God for changing the feast into cheese, twice, the Dragonborn cleared her throat. The Companions were probably starting to worry. Catching on to the Falmer’s hint, the Huntsman bade his brethren farewell and soon enough he and Isilmé warped into the Harbinger’s room. “I am never going to get used to that,” She cupped her mouth as her stomach churned. The Huntsman chuckled softly before disappearing once more. She would in time. Isilmé closed her eyes and shook her head. _How am I going to explain to them how I got here without using the front door?_

She let down her hair then made her way to the mead hall where, as she expected, everyone turned towards her. “Did that scroll actually worked?” Aela asked winking at her and the elf gave her a grateful smile. 

“More or less. I’m glad I didn’t... uh... land on the roof.” She said and the Companions laughed. Athis scoffed as he smirked, and the Dark Elf spoke up pretending to be offended, “If you wanted to learn magic you could have asked me. I ain’t that bad.”

“Tell that to fish you tried cooking when we were caught in that storm together,” Tovar jabbed his elbow in to his friend’s ribs. Athis glared daggers at the drunk.

“Oh, for Azura’s sake! I make one mistake and you never let me live it down!”

“Why would we?” Farkas piped in and Athis threw his hands up in defeat but chuckled.

The hungry Companions continued to eat contently while Isilmé and Aela chattered quietly about what had happened in the back of the room. The twins were glad that the two women were now talking more without any awkward tension. Soon. Soon they would be traveling to the Tomb of Ysgramor to free Kodlak and send him home to Sovngarde. 

Isilmé had just finished informing the Inner Circle about their traveling plans to the Tomb of Ysgramor and was just finishing up drying her hair after taking a bath. She tied her hair in to a loose bun and started to prep her bed for the night. Just as she finished dousing the candles on her nightstand, she knelt down upon a prayer mat beside her bed and closed her eyes. The sound a soft breeze whispered around her and when she opened her eyes, Isilmé found herself in a massive garden full of roses of every color in full bloom. She saw a city of silver looming over the garden like a glistening mirror. There were water features around the garden and the faint wind carried the roses scent like a sweet perfume. This was the Moonshadow... Isilmé rose to her feet and slowly spun around, taking in the picturesque sight. The young Falmer saw a few Twilights tending to the garden. Winged Twilights resembled harpies in a way but were much more elegant. For a while, the Falmer watched the denizens use their clawed feet and tails to water, and trim the imperfection from the rose bushes. 

“Oh, there you are little mortal.” 

Isilmé turned to find the goddess herself approaching with two Twilights accompanying her like handmaidens. The Dragonborn nodded towards the Daedra. “I see you respect the simplistic beauty of my home.” Azura smiled then waved her perfectly manicured hand and a few blue and purple roses levitated towards Isilmé. They spiraled around the Falmer, spinning over her head, undoing her hair and the flowers started to weave into her silvery locks. Azura then produced a mirror and the young woman gapped at her reflection. She looked like royalty with the roses expertly woven into her long hair. Isilmé made a soft giggle before glancing up shyly towards Azura who nodded with satisfaction. “Hircine may prefer the rough and tumble-ness of the Hunt, but you are still a lady.” The Prince of Dusk and Dawn stated firmly before gesturing towards a small gazebo made of what appeared to be crystal with white roses and ivy twirling around the posts. 

“Is this where we’ll be training?”

Azura gave her happy nod. She then conjured up a few lush pillows for the girl to sit upon and gestured to them. Isilmé’s gaze flicked towards Azura then to the pillows and she took a seat on some of the lush silk cushions. “Have you ever meditated before?” Azura questioned as sat across from the Dragonborn who shook her head. The Daedric Prince hummed slightly but nodded and had Isilmé sit cross-legged and rest her hands as though she were holding a lotus flower. They will start with the basics. “I want you to close your eyes child.” The Falmer did as she was asked. Azura smiled and did the same before continuing, “Now, can you feel the energy under your skin, that faint tickling sensation?”

“...yes.”

Azura opened her eyes to find Isilmé rubbing her shoulder, her head hanging low, and the goddess lifted her chin. “Child, I know you’re afraid of using magic because of what happened to the young man,” Azura softly spoke, “But this time, you’ll be able to help save lives.” Isilmé glanced up at Azura who just smiled. Nodding, they returned to their lesson. Azura was a very good teacher and after a few hours, Isilmé finally extended her wrist then opened her palm. Swirls of blue and white crystals began to form within her hand. She moved her hand around watching the snow follow like a puppy. “Very good. Now, remember how to withdraw?” Isilmé nods, closing her eyes and slowly but surely the tiny ice crystals evaporated and the Falmer smiled proudly before glancing up at the Daedra who softly giggled at the sight. “You learn rather quickly. We’ve finished with the basics. However, before you begin on the advance training, I want you practice meditating until you arrive at the Tomb. After that, Meridia will instruct you on your next lesson.” 

“Thank you… Azura.” Isilmé bowed her head before stifling a yawn that dared to escape her lips. The Goddess of Roses only chuckled as she waved her hand around the young elf and the petals from her silvery hair whisked around her in an array of color. “Off to bed with you Cub. And well done.” Azura hummed as the Falmer vanished from her realm back to Nirn where Isilmé curled up under the covers of her bed. Soon, she drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Aela and Isilmé can talk again lol
> 
> Hircine has a lot of anger with Herma Mora. More on that another day.
> 
> "Cinny" (pronounced Sin-knee) is a nickname I thought would be funny and cute for Sheo to use to taunt Hircine. >_>; it's effective.


	19. Kodlak's Final Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the Companions head to the Tomb of Ysgramor to free Kodlak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off! Thank you everyone for giving this story a chance! I'm glad that you all are enjoying it! 
> 
> Secondly: As you noticed, I have been posting other parts of the series. Don't worry! I'm still writing them just be patient. 
> 
> Thirdly, Part 2 of this series is still in the works and I'm currently trying to write out the rest.
> 
> Finally: as always comments, thoughts are always welcomed!

Isilmé collected the last of her rations and finished putting on her armor then made her way upstairs where the twins and Aela were waiting for her. Athis and Njada had agreed to look after things in Jorrvaskr until she and the Inner Circle returned. “Everyone ready?” Vilkas asked as he slung his pack over his shoulder. Aela nodded alongside Farkas. “We just need to collect Wuuthrad then we can be on our way.” Isilmé stated as the four of them headed up to the Skyforge where Euorland was now cleaning the legendary battle-axe.

The old Nord nodded towards them as he presented the reformed weapon. Farkas and Vilkas gave low whistles of admiration at the sight. Aela eyed its sharpened blade. “It’s beautiful,” Isilmé stated as she traced her fingers along the haft then winced slightly. Pulling her hand back, she noticed her fingers were red with faint burns and Euorland grimaced at the revelation. Wuuthrad was a weapon used against elves, which meant Isilmé wouldn’t be able to use it. 

“I’m so sorry lass. I forgot about this weapon’s ancient enchantment against elves.” The smith said but Isilmé just chuckled. 

“It’s not your fault Euorland. Farkas or Vilkas can have it.” The elf gestured to the two men. Vilkas shook his head and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Nah, I am not worthy of the honor but Farkas is.” The older twin said matter-of-factly as Euorland handed the battle-axe to Farkas. The younger twin just gaped in disbelief as he studied the ancient weapon. The Companions returned their attention to Isilmé as she cleared her throat.

Today was the day. The day they would travel to Ysgramor’s Tomb and free Kodlak. “We’ll be gone for a week or two, so pack what you need and meet me at the stables.” Isilmé instructed then made her way to gather the Glenmoril heads. She was grateful that since the witches’ heads were the seat of their magic, their skulls didn’t rot and most importantly, they didn’t smell. Along with the food, she packed a pair of fresh linens and shirts before suiting up in her armor. Once Dawnbreaker was strapped to her waist, the Falmer hurried off towards the stable.

Farkas was finishing up saddling Sylph when she arrived. Like a gentleman, the young Nord assisted her into her saddle before hoisting himself up on to Magnus with Aela surprisingly riding behind him. Vilkas was adjusting himself on his palomino mare who snorted softly. The four nodded and took to the road heading towards Windhelm. Their goal was to reach Winterhold in three days and return back to Jorrvaskr within the next four. Thankfully they arrived ahead of schedule and were all sharing a tankard of warm mead before the big day tomorrow. Isilmé slipped outside to clear her head and while leaning against the railing noticed a familiar face walking by. 

“Jone and Jode, Isilmé is that you?”

“Good evening, Khyeena. Are you here on a mission or something?” The Falmer asked as the Khajiit approached her wearing thick mages robes. 

“Well, not exactly.” The Cat hummed slightly as she scratched her head and giggled when a tawny owl perched on her shoulder, “I’m here as a student.”

This didn’t really surprise Isilmé since Khyeena had always been so adept with magic as a cub. The Khajiit then beckoned the Elf to follow her. Not having anything else better to do, Isilmé trudged through the snow behind her. As the two chatted amongst themselves, Isilmé was openly glad that her friend was doing better than the last time they met. Over the last few months, Khyeena had become the leader of the Thieves Guild and was finishing up her studies at the College. “I still miss Brynjolf…” Khyeena exhaled sadly as she looked up at the moons above, giggling slightly when the owl nuzzled her furry cheek. Isilmé gave the feline woman a teasing smirk. 

“Sounds like he is more than just a friend or business partner.”

The Cat’s tail frizzed out like a bottle-brush. She then playfully smacked Isilmé on the shoulder who just snickered more. “Well, I am curious as to what you’re doing here in Winterhold?” Khyeena questioned and her friend pinched the bridge of her nose. She then explained the events that had been going on since they last met up. Khyeena listened intently only adding a few witty remarks to make the elf laugh. Gods, she missed this and she nuzzled Isilmé purring softly as her friend scratched her chin. “Just like old times eh Snowy?” Khyeena grinned. Isilmé rolled her eyes. Snowy… Khyeena always called her that when they were children due to her skin and hair being white as snow but she was right nonetheless. This was like old times. When Usaeleí was busy hunting for their dinner, she and Khyeena would just sit and talk while entertaining the Rieklings who’d visit on occasion. They would sometimes braid each other's hair. 

“So, I have a favor for you.”

“What is it, Khyeena?”

“If you plan on going on a crazy adventure, do you think you can have myself and Usaeleí accompany you? You know, for old times' sake?” 

Isilmé chuckled at the question. Khyeena should already know the answer and from the look on her face, knew as well. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” The elf nodded as the wind blew around them tossing up the powdery snow with it. The two friends stood there in the cold watching the stars shimmer over them. Soon, Isilmé noticed the moons beginning their descent and decided to call it a night. Khyeena hugged her friend tightly before waving farewell and the Dragonborn retired for the evening. She met up with Meridia that night for her lessons on healing magic which to her surprise, she was a master at the craft. The Daedra on the other hand wasn’t surprised at all. She often commented that her mother was a skilled healer as well. On the bright side, Isilmé wouldn't have to worry about buying anymore potions or antidotes which were expensive as it were and she wasn't very good with alchemy. 

The next morning...

“This is the tomb?” Vilkas questioned with awe as the four of them dismounted from their mounts and approached the mound. Isilmé nodded as they made their way down the stairs and stood before the iron doors of the tomb. There was an ancient magicka radiating from it. Steeling themselves, the four werewolves entered the tomb. Vilkas and Isilmé were admiring the markings on the walls as they followed the worn stairs down until they found themselves before a statue of the Ysgramor. There he stood, in his ancient Nord armor with his hard gaze locked firmly on the tunnel. However, the Dragonborn couldn’t help but notice something off about the statue. His hands were clenched around the empty air. It looked like they were supposed to be holding something. She turned towards Farkas with Wuuthrad strapped to his back.

“Oh!” She finally snapped her fingers causing everyone to turn towards her as the elf pointed at the statue. In all the artworks and stone works of the Leader of the Five-Hundred, Ysgramor was depicted holding his weapon in his hands. “We need to put Wuuthrad back into Ysgramor’s hands to continue forward.” She explained and Farkas removed the legendary weapon from his shoulder and carefully adjusted it back in to the First Harbinger’s hands. There was a rumbling behind the statue followed by a wall descending down to reveal another pathway. Farkas removed the axe and followed Aela down the stairs. As Isilmé was about to follow, she noticed Vilkas remained rooted in place. 

“Vilkas... What’s the matter?” She approached him as he rubbed his neck.  
“You three need to be cautious. The original Companions also reside here with Ysgramor. His finest warriors. They seem eager to test your mettle, to prove that you’re worthy” The older twin stated softly. “Be ready for an honorable fight.”

“You’re not coming?”

He shook his head slowly, his shoulders drooping. “Kodlak was right. I... I let vengeance rule my heart, ‘Sil. I don’t regret what we did at Driftshade, but,” He explained reluctantly, “I... I can’t go on any further with my mind fogged and heart grieved...” 

Isilmé gave her Shield-Brother a concerned but understanding look and she nodded. She quickly chased after the others just as they finished battling several spectral warriors. Farkas and Aela were about to question her about Vilkas but she shook her head. They could ask their companion after they dealt with Kodlak. The tomb was like any other ancient Nord ruin save for the absence of Draugr. They were just finishing up with the ancient Companion specters when they stopped found themselves before a webbed-up entrance and the Dragonborn and Farkas shuddered uncomfortable. 

“Why does it have to be spiders...” They both shuddered in unison. 

As the young Falmer and Aela carved through the webbing, Farkas had visibly paled and was shaking visibly as small beads of sweat formed on his brow. Aela scoffed as she went on ahead to deal with the arachnids. Isilmé gently shook Farkas’ shoulder as he blinked owlishly at her. “... ‘Sil, I can’t go on.” He said a low whisper, voice filled with shame before he continued, “I never told anyone. Vilkas knows this but, I can’t deal with Frost Spiders... I was attacked by one as a kid. Since then, I can’t stand being in their presence.” The young woman grimaced as the memory of what happened to the Jarl of Windhelm when they escaped Helgen. She couldn’t really blame the Nord. She patted his shoulder and took the sack from him. “Go back to Vilkas. Aela and I will deal with the rest.” She reassured him. He dropped his head low and jogged back the way they came while the Dragonborn returned to Aela.

“Didn’t know he was so squeamish over spiders.” Aela mocked then winced when Isilmé thwacked her on the head. 

“We all have our flaws and fears.” Isilmé reminded as they made it to another large chamber. There weren’t many spirits like the last two but they were still rather powerful. The two women finally arrived at large chamber and from the size and shape of the room, along with a tomb in the very back, this was the final resting place of Ysgramor. In the center of the room was a brazier. It was ablaze with blue flames, flickering, crackling and popping. It was radiating a strange energy that was alluring to Isilmé. The Huntress ended up remaining behind stating that something was keeping her from entering the room. Nervously, the Dragonborn approached the fire. It unexpectedly began glowing brilliantly, embers spewing around until they began to form a familiar but ghostly figure. 

It was Kodlak!

The old Nord dusted himself off then gazed fondly at the young snow elf. “Greetings little Cub.” He grinned then grunted slightly when the Dragonborn nearly tackled him embracing him in a tight hug which he reciprocated. “It’s alright, Isilmé. It’s alright.” He said softly feeling her shudder slightly. The feeling of his hands running over her head was soothing and reassuring.

“I’m sorry...” She choked, “I’m sorry that I wasn’t able to get back in time.”

“Ah Lass, my death was inevitable. There was nothing you could have done even as the Huntsman’s Daughter.” He explained then chuckled lightly when she gawked at him, “Yes. I know who you are little Cub. Just as I feel your dragon and wolf, I can feel the daedric power within you as well. However, that does not make me think less of you. In truth, I am more proud in how much you are growing, both in power and wisdom.” She sniffled slightly as he brushed the stray tear on the corner of her eye. She gave a weak smile then remembered her task as she cleared her throat. “Are you ready to go home to Sovngarde?” His eyes widen and he nodded. Yes, there was still a chance to cure him. Vilkas and Isilmé had gone over their texts vigorously the night before and concluded that even in death, the curse could be removed. She gestured to the brazier as she rummaged through the sack and pulled forth one of the Glenmoril heads. Once Kodlak nodded towards her, she tossed the wicked head into the roaring flames then slowly drew Dawnbreaker and turned to a red light emerging from the shadows behind Kodlak.

The ghostly creature was as red as blood and larger than a horse. Its fangs, long and gleaming, were borne. Its fur bristled as it crouched low, ready to pounce. Kodlak and Isilmé readied their swords at the spectral wolf. It was unnaturally fast, but the training she had taken under the Huntress had paid off and using her newfound senses was able to keep pace with the beast. Her eyes flickered from purple to gold when she snarled at the creature drawing its attention back to her just in time for Kodlak to bring his blade down across his beast’s neck. Upon meeting contact, the beast exploded in a blinding red light forcing the two to shield their eyes. As the light faded, Isilmé felt Kodlak gently grip her shoulder and she turned her gave to find a surprising boyish smile, a genuine care-free smile, plaster his face. They had done it.

“Thank you, my girl. You have given me a great gift and have proven that you are more than ready to lead the Companions. Be strong, little dragon. We will meet again.” He lifted her chin gently so that she could see his old eyes shine brighter than ever before. She didn’t stop her tears from falling as she watched her mentor slowly begin to fade. He was finally going to Sovngarde. Just like he wanted. What he wished. Still, having to say farewell once again was even harder than it was the first time. However, he seemed to remain, a grim look suddenly washing over his features as he stared at her with concern. That look alone had the Dragonborn holding her breath anxiously. 

“Before I depart, I need to relay a message to you.”

“What is the message Kodlak?” She asked in barely a whisper. Her voice was thick with worry and it took a great deal of effort to keep herself from shaking.

“Alduin, the World Eater, the Firstborn of Akatosh has returned. You must face him if all of Nirn is to survive. Only you can defeat him, Isilmé, for you are Dragonborn. The time has come, Daughter of the Snow; Child of the Hunt. Have no fear, for I have faith in you and know you can do it.” And with that, the Harbinger gave her a final embrace then disappeared, leaving the snow elf frozen in shock. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 is done! Yay!!!! Tell me how it came out or if you have any ideas requests etc and I will see if i can do it ^^


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